Surely I am not the only one who is at this point. Life itself requires pain and suffering as payment. I ignore what’s right and wrong. I live in a space carved out of ambiguity and indecisiveness. I stay in place because I’m too scared to move. Depression paralyzes even the strong eventually and I’ve been too tired of trying for years now.

My world is caving in around me as I stand and look at the sky and think about the look in his eyes when he promised he loved me and not her. I see my mother drunk and blurry as she tells me again that she’s sorry she wasn’t around to see me grow into this confused, scared woman. My father says he loves me, but there was no one around when I cried at night as I grew up. My friends, well, I lost those along the way as I fell down into despair and I said things to make them stay away because I know I am a failure. I cannot fathom how anyone can look at me and smile. It seems against all odds that I am here, alive. My thoughts rush around and nothing seems to focus.

I hate the taste of alcohol. It makes me gag. I don’t like drinking. I don’t like being tipsy or spinning around. I like losing control and letting go and having my mind fade until nothing matters and by the time the sun comes up I have no memories of the boy saying that I said it was okay and that I agreed to it or the girl who said I was worthless or the cuts on my thigh that remind me that I am not alright. I like being chaos because that’s the only way I feel okay enough to breathe. I smoke until my lungs burn and the lights blur and my eyes roll back and forth. I smoke and sob in the dark of my truck until the sun peaks out of the tree branches and I finally decide to make my way back to the house that will never be home. I stand in the mirror and stare until I look foreign. I rage inside because I know all my flaws, all the wrong things said, all the people hurt by me. I know I am not good. I taste bile in my words when I tell someone that I’m okay. My legs are scarred from blades and knives and fire and my throat burns from throwing up my dinner every night for years in a row. I have a list of lovers somewhere in my brain but don’t ask me because I don’t recall what names go on it.

Anyway it’s Friday night and I have to dress up and act cute and flirty and pretend that the guy I text is cute and interesting, but all I want to do is get high and snort some benzos and leave his place and walk around dark streets so that maybe I can feel alive. I have this weekend to move out of my apartment because I got evicted today. I am surrounded and alone, hot and cold, dazed and confused.

 

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