Then the next moment I felt a force holding me down, no pushing me down. It’s knee on my neck, it’s hand on my cheek. Not letting me get up and get dressed. Not letting the tears stop pouring from my eyes. I didn’t know why I was crying. I just knew every ounce of my body hurt. With every movement and every breath a knife was stabbing me. A voice in my head telling me to stop. Stop breathing. Stop moving. Stop trying. It’s never going to be enough. Your efforts will never result in you being more than what you are now. I felt trapped in the space I had created for myself. A space that had been invaded and shit on. A space I no longer felt safe in. I felt confined in an art I felt so free in. I used to stay up all night using make up and playing with new colors and trying new techniques, but lately I’ve just felt my make up routine has become a chore. Right next to get out of bed, smile, don’t talk about your problems too much no one cares, make everyone laugh, help everyone, make everyone’s life easier, don’t ask for anything. My job drains me to the point where I’ve become an empty soul. I just go through the motions to get through the day. I’m not making any money anymore. So I’m stressed. I don’t like my job position anymore. So every minor inconvenience is soul crushing and brings me to the point of tears. But it doesn’t matter. I ask everyday for it to change only to be told “just a little longer, please.”
I’ve become this empty shell whose purpose everyday is to make life easier for everyone around me. Make this boy happy. Text him back quickly so he feels validated. Smile at the asshole guest. Work this shift for my co worker. Work the bar for my manager. Throw crazy parties for ungrateful people. Pay this extra amount for my roommate. Clean up her dirty dishes, step over her clothes all over the floor. Stay in my bedroom so I don’t disrupt their movie night.
dededos
germansingergirl
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
