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Each day became more and more stagnant, the boundaries disappearing until the nights and days merge into an everflowing stream. One begins to wonder if there was a time where things actually had meaning. If there is such thing as “happiness”.

She only blasts the music to drown out the voices in her head.

#prompt #fragment #spilled ink

It wasn't easy being in love with her.

Some days, she would come home with a scowl on her face and her mind in the clouds. Some days, she would come home at 4 am exhausted, knowing that she had a class in five hours and came to bed smelling like wood chips because she was afraid of falling sleep in the shower.

#fragment #spilled ink #to finish

theabsentmindedarchitect

So after a long talk with this nerd last night, I’ve decided to post the link to my writing blog: X

The reason why I was reluctant to share it is because of how dark my writing is. It’s one of my ways to cope and let out everything in a (hopefully) productive manner.

All of these are personal in a sense and can seemingly be disjointed. I can only write in fragments- not full stories unless I really try.

My writing often contains self harm and I want to make this clear in hopes I do not trigger anyone. And in no way am I condoning it or making it seem attractive. They are drawn from my experiences and I often find it cathartic to write about it rather than actually do it.

I also hope that from my writings, people will come to understand and not judge anyone based on their scars.

She wasn’t perfect, but that was what I loved most about her.

She was complicated in the most irrational and infuriating ways. She was cracked, chipped, broken, and prone to snapping. She loved, feared, and hated. She was loved, feared and hated. She put up a strong front while quietly sobbing behind it. All of this made her incredible and endearingly human.

She sleeps peacefully now in my arm and I hope that she is dreaming pleasant dreams. It was still odd to see her like this, knowing that her face would never be this open and serene if she were awake.

Thin faded lines and crescent moons criss-crossed and marred her beautiful skin- both mementos of an internal battle and painful reminders of the past. I remember kissing every one of them that night while she looked away, ashamed.

“Don’t be.” I had breathed, cupping her cheek. “You fought on and never gave in. They are a part of you now and nothing can change that. In no way do they make you any lesser than someone else…”

#spilled ink #fragment #self harm mention

It was a strange and eerie silence, with nothing but the steady murmurs in my ear.

It was almost cathartic to say the least. I had been so accustomed to busying myself with such mundane and repetitive affairs. I had forgotten to enjoy the world around me.

#spilled ink #fragment

I didn't know this person, but they were touching me, holding me, whispering me to me, kissing me like I did. This was getting dangerous, but I'm tired of playing it safe- tired of nothing happening.

#spilled ink #fragment

Everything has something to live for. Maybe it's something like 'I want to find a cure for cancer' or 'I want to expose the injustice in the system'. Or it's maybe something more personal like 'I want to find someone who will love me as I will them.' Or it's something as simple as 'I want to just live and experience everything.'

I'm not like that.

I can't be happy. I've tried and I can't. I don't want to be like this for the rest of my life. I don't want to just sit here, watching each day go by.

There is something wrong with me. Maybe it's a severed or even an underdeveloped area in my head. I don't want it. The only reason why I'm still standing here is because I have to. It's as simple as that.

I don't have a choice. I don't want to be that person that people think back to often and ask "Why?" I don't want to be that person that causes people pain every time they think back to me.

This is my sole reason for living: so that I will stop causing the people I love pain.

Maybe this is completely misguided and I'm completely self-centered, but this is me.

31 December 2009.

-----

She slumped over the moment that she finished writing it. Here it was, a confession, written down for the world to see. She had never told anyone else. Just seeing it in a tangible form before her caused bile to creep up her throat and the panic creep in the edges of her mind.

Control it. Don't let it control you.

With shaking fingers, she folded the paper two times and placed it in the ashtray. After standing there for what seemed like hours, thumbing the cheap plastic lighter, she finally flicked the wheel and held it up to the corner.

The moment she did that, something passed over her. It was one part elation, two parts relief, and the total awareness that she wouldn't be able to express what she just did ever again.

#spilled ink #fragment #angst-y

Back then we survived with our bruised knees and egos, not realizing that there was so much more than being the most popular kid in school. We didn't realize that even the simplest words would define who and what we were. We didn't realize that letting them define us would bind us to a single form, unable to grow and prosper.

#spilled ink #fragment

'alis volat propriis'

"What does it mean?"

"'She flies on her own wings'. You can't trust anyone but yourself. You can't rely on anyone but yourself. Opening up to people is the quickest way to fall... to get hurt. You have to fly using your own strength."

"That sounds like a lonely way to live."

She gives me a sardonic smile and picks at the skin of her wrist, careful not to touch the still healing area. "Who ever said that I wanted to?"

#spilled ink #fragment

I try to tell myself that I'm okay, but the cuts on my arms are permanent reminders that I'm not.

#spilled ink #fragment #self harm mention

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