i’m here

[findmeinthesewords]

what is love?

is it the length of your leg against mine without the uncomfortable feeling in my belly telling me to move

or is it looking forward to being alone with you even when it’s just the brief second before everyone else comes into the room

is it clutching onto the words you tell me to spit them back out again to prove that i know you more than anyone else

is it not caring when i hear the words you speak about me behind my back because when we’re together i feel so loved

is it telling you things about myself that i shouldn’t really tell anyone

is it wanting to see you in 50 years and it not be a random reunion but a planned meeting

is it the platonic bond i have with you and that i have no romantic feelings towards you

and yet if you asked i would kiss you

[findmeinthesewords]

if i step into a room and i am plain

no one will notice me

if i step into a room and i am loud

no one will like me

if i step into a room and i look nice

i have tried too hard

if i step into a room and i do not

i have let myself go

if i kiss

i am loose

if i don’t

i am wound too tight

if i am

i am not

[findmeinthesewords]

the world is held in eyes

and i’m too scared to look

for longer than a few seconds

because what if i look at the world and it disappoints me

i look in your eyes and my breathing quickens

because i could spend my time looking

and it could be wasted

i could spend my time looking

and in a few months remember your eyes and your place in the world

but not be able to tell you

[findmeinthesewords]

i’ve told you know and i feel guilty - like the act of telling you made it less real

but as the music plays and my leg stings and the blood transfers onto the inside of my pockets i feel stupid

i can’t help it

i just feel weak

nothing

absolutely nothing was happening

and i sit there and hurt

and i can’t explain it

i would rather feel that than nothing at all

the guilt

the shame

grow up

be strong

be resilient

ignore it

push it down

but when it comes up i can’t ignore it

[findmeinthesewords]

tw/ self harm and alcohol abuse

when everything feels so far and so fake. like i’m wading through knee deep water or i’m constantly dreaming. i open my eyes and i’ve missed 5 seconds. which grows into 10 and then a minute. and my body goes on autopilot. and i don’t remember things that happened last week. feelings that i felt because i never really felt them. i pretended.

when it scares me because i don’t want to wake up one day and realised my autopilot life has emergency landed me in the suburbs. with a beer bellied husband who doesn’t really love me and children who scream and cry and never really shut up.

and so i do everything i can to remind myself it’s real. i push. i pull. i drink. i feel it burn as it tips down my throat because maybe if i’m tipsy i experience more things. but i don’t feel tipsy straight away so i drink more and then it all comes at once and i’ve missed it again.

i find something hard. and sharp. and dig it into the flesh of my thigh. and drag it across. i haven’t done it right unless i feel the little rips in my leg. unless it scars. and bleeds. a physical reminder of the nothingness i felt.

because when it hurts. and it does hurt. sometimes for days afterwards it snaps me back. you are here. you are experiencing all of this. you are uncomfortable and so you are reminded that you are real. and you are reminded that you couldn’t handle the life that everyone else manages to.

[findmeinthesewords]

the past couple of weeks have been good. relatively.

and i don’t feel like hurting. sometimes.

which is different. completely.

but it makes me feel embarrassed. unsurprisingly.

that maybe i was being over dramatic. probably.

i was not really that bad. likely.

if i don’t keep it to myself am i really suffering at all?

i don’t know the answer.

[findmeinthesewords]

my mum is worried about me - i can tell. it’s in the way she phrases her questions, like i don’t know what she’s doing and i will somehow let my secrets out.

i don’t blame her, i’ve never been as bad as i am. but my insides twist when she looks at me like that. when her eyebrows bend and her eyes glisten.

i feel guilty, because i should talk about it. but i really don’t want to - everything is fine - as long as i get out of this house. of this town. as long as i get there. as long as next year is better. as long as a piece of string.

it could go on forever, couldn’t it? constantly wishing my time away until i’m standing at my own grave. tracing the words on the stone in front of me and crying because i wasted it. i had one chance and i wasted it.

being locked inside has made me worse because i didn’t realise it - but i was okay before. i had bad days but the general consensus was that i was fine. and now

my mum is worried about me.

[henrycharlesbukowski]

[callmefrieden]

Dear Milena,

I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.” Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.

― Franz Kafka

[kafkaesque-world]

“I can no longer write to you as to a stranger.”

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

[laadystoneheart]

Atonement (2007) dir. Joe Wright

[findmeinthesewords]

i want to buy you my favourite book and circle every line that made me think of you.

[findmeinthesewords]

if i die.

if i die i want to leave as many things unfinished as i can. an empty cup of tea, some dying flowers that need watering, a book with three quarters of the pages dog-eared but the ending still untouched, conversations that i promised i would get back to, people that i still need to catch up with.

it sounds morbid, and unfair, that i don't get to do everything i wanted before i'm gone but i think that it reflects a life, and a person who is unhurried and peaceful. after all, happy person isn't waiting for their last day, they are expecting more to come.

so the teabag still steeping represents more than an unfinished drink, it tells a story of a life so busy, and so full that there was no way i could ever imagine finishing it.

[findmeinthesewords]

The lines on my leg blend with the lines my own body made.

And I can’t separate them as I run my finger over.

I always guess, but I get it wrong.

Maybe I don’t know my body as well as I think I do.

It explains why sometimes I don’t know it’s me in the photo.

Or when I stare at the image too long, it looks incorrect.

Because the picture on the screen looks different than it does in my head.

I don’t know my body as well as I think I do.

As my stomach roars for food and I ignore it, hoping it will reward me with less of itself.

As I drink cups of water to quell the emptiness.

I don’t know my body as well as I think I do.

As I lie there and feel, unmeasurable and undetectable feelings.

The hole in my chest growing wider and wider every time I don’t think about it.

I don’t know my body as well as I think I do.

Maybe that’s why I mark it.

So I have some power over myself.