Sometimes...talking to my HS boyfriend really helps. Over the past 9 or 10 years we've been apart, we've gotten closer as friends. And recently, I have been in HELLA NEED for friendship.
I calls this "Texts with Kyle"
Kyle: I feel bad how useless I am to you in your time of need, I wanna help so bad and can't think of anything. If I was in the apartment i would at least be able to offer you a roof. I have like that stomach drop feeling trying to think of anyway to be helpful
Me: There's nothing anyone could do, like I need to fix my life. I mean I'm gonna say it definitely isn't fair, that I did my best to prepare, to be able to deal with my scary past and be supported, but now... I have to deal with that all being a fallacy and also get my shit together and deal with the trauma bullshit… but I really don't feel like I'm in the mood to let any of those things defeat me though.
Kyle: Girl that past line is gold...it read so powerful, it made me smile. I want to lift you up into the air after it
Me: Replace the word bullshit with reality and it's a damn poem
Me: Fuck I’m crazy
Kyle: The entire thing reads very well
Kyle: I screen shot it, I loved it that much
Me: ...Omg, thank you.
Kyle: I mean, the whole thing was just you saying what I've always told you. You're so damn strong.
There's nothing anyone could do,
I need to fix my life. I mean...
I'm going to say it d isn't fair, that I did my best to prepare,
to be able to deal with my scary past and be supported,
but now... I have to deal with that being a fallacy and also
get my shit together and deal with the trauma bullshit-reality
… but I really don't feel like I'm in the mood to let any of those things defeat me though.
But here I am, 28 years old standing before the opening doors of closeted memories. Memories worse than my nightmares, worse than what I had thought I escaped. Memories I thought I killed and buried have been dug out of their graves.
DAYS ( I wrote this about nine years ago now but I still think it’s worth sharing despite its age. … Continue Reading Days
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I want him to get through the painful aggression of my distance. Walk through my walls like he was born to do it. That’s the love I want
I remember the first time I inquired about suicide, I was 7 or 8 years old. I still shared a room with my sister.
My diary from 2016 is one of the most disruptively sorrowful journals, filled with entries dedicated to fear.
Not a spirit in the forest, nor a cloud in the sky
knows the words that blooms inside…
This THING THAT IS I.