Bury Me in My Silence

Seventeen year old writer who's stomach is in knots already for calling herself a writer

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I don't think I could tell you exactly what's wrong, all I know is my nails are jagged again, the dreams about my coworker started again and I don't know how to talk to you.

I know how to run. I know how to scream, and to ignore, and I know how to cry, but lately I find that I can only do one of those around you. I want us to work, and I feel like we can, but I think I forgot that we don't know everything still. It felt momentous to be so good at us for so long that bumps in the road felt like they only existed in my daydreams about the future.

You talked about breaking up with me. I've had the thought before that if you were ever to break up with me then that would really be the end. 

I can't tell if this feels like the end.

I can't remember if i got an apology for your low blow. I feel like you were too up your own ass for hours to give me one. 

I wish I could get space without asking for it, wish I could ask for it without making you think I just wanted a few seconds to build up the courage to break up with you for a third time.

I feel trapped. I've been sick for days, in bed and going no where. I ran through someone else's playlists to get away from the music that makes me think of you. I have the next idea for my hair and I imagined going to all the normal places and being a new person. I'd like to crawl out of my own skin and take up someone else's, someone that doesn't exist yet.

[buuckybaarnes]

i am so small and bitter im like a human espresso

[thriley]

Q train, Nigel Van Wieck

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

The wind makes me realize that I'm not angry, I'm just scared.

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I feel like you shouldn't be allowed to bring cute babies into high schools. No body here needs baby fever, but thank you

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

Right now I am about 5'7 and weigh 120 pounds.

Life sounds pretty good, from just those numbers. I'm a little under weight, from all the charts. One saying I should weigh at least two pounds more, another three, and another just one. I sought to know my BMI, though apparently these days it doesn't mean that much. The website said that "health officials" qualify 18.5 and lower are underweight. I rank with a bit of solidarity at a 19.

This is the healthiest size I've probably been my whole life. Last year I found out I was 91 pounds at 5'6. I had been on the coffee and cigarettes diet without even realizing it. I asked to be taken to the nearest food-serving dairy queen after I got out of the doctors office.

I started eating more and liking it when more weight got put on. I didn't track on a scale, but once you realize you're at an unhealthy weight, I think you notice your body more. I didn't weigh, I didn't count calories. In health class this year my goal was to eat throughout the day. I brought carrots, fruits, whole grain sandwiches and salads with whatever dressing I wanted every day for three weeks. Over this summer, I have been on a mission for most of my time; the stoner mission to find the perfect food. I would eat everything that sounded tasty looking for the "perfect food". 

But today I found my scale again. And I weighed, and was surprised that I didn't weigh more. My thighs are thick, my ass actually jiggles now, and I have finally grown into the tits that I've wanted since my older sister hit puberty when I was seven. My stomach could use some work, but I still wear crop tops and tight shirts with mild ease.

I've gotten anorexia jokes since my generation was old enough to have a light grasp on what the disorder meant, but it wasn't always peers. My elementary school best friend's mom threw them at me every time i needed more than 3 minutes to think about what I wanted to eat in middle school. She bought me a graphic tee in 8th grade that had sticks on it, and it read "Don't hate me because I'm skinny." I never thought poorly of her for it before. Whenever I've talked about my body in a negative light outside of the ears of close friends, I've gotten a variant chorus of "Shut up, you're skinny, you don't have anything to complain about." I had to explain to a friend that I don't like maxi dresses on myself because there is in fact a difference between skinny and fit. 

I love my body right now. But this morning, I had a breakdown and screamed about how fat I had gotten because I used to be a size two. I'm in a choir right now that required me to order a dress to match all the other girls. When I ordered it, I was a size two. I am no longer a size two. I felt like shit for ruining my chances of fitting into a $160 dress when my family barely has the money to pay for what I love to do as it is. Now it needs to be let out too.

And I still feel like shit for screaming about it.

I love my body. My body is good to me, and I'm better at being good to it. But one ill fitting and I looked up three different weight to height charts, and converted my height and weight from pounds to kilograms and inches to centimeters. I hate that it got to me. I hate that I had to be soothed about a body I love. I hate that I looked to a boy to reassure me that I look good, when I already know that I do. 

I love my body, I hate the society I live in.

[fuckgarcons]

find someone that doesn’t just plant flowers in the worst part of you, but waters the dead ones

violum (via ckings)

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

How am I supposed to write about how no one cares about my words, Because after all, no one cares right?

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I want a happiness that can only be explained in small bites while I'm intoxicated. But i still cut myself off before i really get anywhere. I want to be real. I want to let myself be honest. I want to be soft while still standing my ground, but i havent quite found a good balance yet. I don't want to lose my edges, but i don't want to stab people without meaning to. How do people get to that? I want to be pinned to thousands of ideas. A boy asked if i was a free spirit because i don't like plans. I wish i could have said yes. I want to be something. I want to say with confidence "yes i am this" I think i just want to know something, wish i had something concrete. I want to be more confident in something other than that I'm lame. Wish i hadn't tried so hard to convince him. Wish i didn't deny one of my traits. I want to scream my beliefs in a not so empty park instead of meekly backing out of them. This one is sober, but there's a heaviness on my heart that needs to be relieved. I want to be larger than life instead of crushing myself under thoughts of not gopd enough. I want to speak my mind instead of always biting my tongue. I want to live i want to live i want to live. I long for a life where i can do anything. I long for a life where i love endlessly. Let me talk about love, starry eyed and let my friends laugh and not understand. To believe in a love so thoroughly that I don't question it when my friends do would be a lovely adventure. I want to dive head first into my life, rocks at the bottom be damned. This body is my vessel. It will take me where i need to go if i could just maneuver correctly. I know how to drive automatic and i could grt a stick where i needed to go if i tried hard enough, but this is new machinery. I'm not intune enough with my soul to remember how to function effectively. I want to get where I'm going and love the journey just as much as the destination. I guess i wish i thought i was doing it right. I believe in a future where i accept what I'm doing

Write to Live Series, The Sober One 7-14

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I slept with my face buried where your head lay hours before. Your smell was still there. I gave myself time to get over you, but when you came back it was the same. I woke up angry.

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

Sometimes nothing works quite like paper and a pen, There’s a certain loneliness we as a species go through, every once in a while we get out feet glued to the floor. In this frame I cannot write. My body finds discord with my mind and my fingers stumble as my mind races forward. There’s never enough speed in a pen for my brain. fast fast fast fast I feel like I physically can’t write but I feel like I have to. An incessant need. My brain decieves me. I find silliness in myself that I don’t percieve in others. No leway presides in my thoughts. An irrodencent green comes for me, or so I hope. I want to be sucked into a demension I don’t know. I’m sick of being here and there and there, repeat, repeat, repeat. I want to find that I can survive in different atmospheres. Let my lungs take in composites not known in this world and watch as I continue to live. I want to thrive. Put me in a bigger tank, cage, exhibit, enviroment. Take me away, give me a percerption that I run the world, I have control of my life. Give me the board of options and grant me the all-knowing power of choosing outcomes at will. I’m lost here. You’re my anchor, you’re my anchor. You’re all I’ve got. But I want everything, want want want If all you do is want, you never get anywhere. I live in fantasy. I am fake. I am vapid. I’m alone. A L O N E I’m stuck in a nostalgia that I understand but wont let myself out of. I’m in a circle. I can’t get out. I wont get out. I could get out, but in nostalgia nothing changes, everything is the same. No risks. I want my past too much to let go let go let go let go I am now I am here I know i’m here i will get somewhere. The pages will bleed from me the poison will get out of my veins one line at a time. my tendons will plead for relief and my eyes will remain bloodshot, always open, never resting, my lungs will blacken, and I will be here forever writing. I will write my feelings, my thoughts and my reactions. I will not be meek i will not feel shame for the pages and pens on my. I will sit down to write only after I have stood up to live, sleep only after i’ve taxed my brain

The Write to Live Series-July 7th, After the Road

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I mark you because At least in these few moments You belong to me

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I'm good at driving people away and pushing them out of my life. But at night i miss having another's warmth next to me, so i settle for too many cups of coffee and cigarettes

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I miss the way you touched me, i never felt like my skin was diamonds you never got sick of mining, but you had the right amount of roughness and caring. No matter how lustful or lingering your touches were, they felt like the closest i could get to heaven in a boy

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

Today my friends talked about another girl with a crush on you. They talked about how cute it would be if her and you got together. Nobody knows about the texts that have been haunting me. They don't know how quickly id have you if you let me. I don't know if you'd still let me. We talked last Halloween about how you wanted me and you to happen again. It was a Thursday. I wouldn't know that if i didn't search for all my past writings of you. I'm stuck in nostalgia. I think about you when i lay down to sleep and I've been imagining futures where i really am hard to forget. My friend had me draw something with the mild prompt of anxiety. I drew your face with the eyes blacked out. I know i could never get the beauty and wonder in them right. I'm too stuck on you and its driving me crazy. How does one talk to a therapist about boys. This shouldn't matter. Repeat one night stands with you will drive me crazier. With the drawing of you, i wrote the text word for word with the ungodly hour you sent it to me without checking my phone. For now you are the more I've wanted, but i have too much worry to get you.

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

I started to walk to your house. I made it to ridge before i felt too pathetic. I got asked to be picked up by my boyfriend. This is all really fucked up. I found out that i don't like not knowing where i am, when i sat down my heart was racing. I've also found that you can sit under a street lamp on the corner of one of the busiest streets in the neighborhoods of this town, and no one will ask you if you're okay. I don't really want to be asked, when i sat i also heard the forever mantra repeating please don't ask please don't ask. Sometimes i get lucky with the little things. I'm still sitting here. Now half wishing that i didn't asked to be picked up. But i think I've already proven that walks in the night don't help anything. Really, walks with no real destination don't help anything. If i had made it farther, i would have sat in the green divide of the rich and the not so rich. I would have stared at what i thought was your house. I would have walked however many miles it was back to my house. The street that draws almost a straight line from you to me is always a lot longer than i thought it was. Nostalgia does that, i think. Makes your forget the road there and the walk back, but leaves the good of whatever it is you want

[pleaseburymeinmysilence]

"Everybody is. " In one sentence the idea of me actually being your best friend washed out of my head. I'm just like everybody else, I just fuck your alters. Its all I've ever been good for.