I think a lot about me, and everyone I love around me, dying. it’s more than just worry or maybe even anxiety. it’s just that I am genuinely not able to think of anything but the worst.
if even the slightest thing happens my brain automatically goes to the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen.
for example: I was in the shower and i heard a noise. I know that it could’ve been literally anything, my cat knocked something over or maybe my dogs were playing. I can acknowledge these things but my brain created and entire scenario where someone broke into my home and i imagined my dog being protective and attacking and then being shot in the head and then the intruder comes into the bathroom and sees my naked body and decides, instead of killing me, to sell me off.
all from a small and simple noise.
and i knew how crazy and illogical it was yet I felt that it was the most possible thing to happen at that moment.
my brain is just messed up.
I can’t be left alone without feeling like I have been abandoned and i can’t see my loved ones driving away without feeling like I will never see or speak to them again.
there’s something wrong with me and I don’t know what it is but I just wanna feel better.
and as my eyes burn up i slowly start to realize that I feel alone.
ever since I was a kid I could never be home alone or my anxiety would build up and i would freak out over the simplist of sounds.
a gasp of air would leave my mouth and my heart would pump fast and faster as I look around to find no one there.
fingers tighten around my throat and a sob leaks from my lips because I AM ALONE.
it isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last and even with this knowledge i fear for the future.
I fear for the fear.
come back here and feel okay.
I believe the best way to deal with bad things happening to me is to not take them seriously.
like my parents divorce or my eating disorder or in this case, when my sober close friend made the decision to make out with me while I was wasted.
I barely remembered it when I woke up.
The more I talked about it the more I started to remember.
I remember us talking about how I was still drunk.
I remember telling him it was his decision whether or not something happened.
I remember him stroking my body before it happened.
I remember him grabbing me and pulling me closer as it happened.
I don’t remember every single detail but I remember enough to be full of regret, discomfort, and disgust.
As the days go on its all I can think about. I wanna remember the whole thing but it probably won’t happen if it’s already been a day and a half.
I talk about it seriously on here, but of the 2 people i told i have convinced them that I am not nearly as hurt and affected by it even though it’s been clouding my mind.
he was supposed to be my friend.
just my friend.
but friends don’t take advantage of you.
it contained a small amount of things: sunglasses he bought me, shirts he both gave me and that I stole, a bracelet he gave me from his trip to Florida (i asked him “isn’t this special to you?” and he replied “yeah but so are you”), the shoes he bought me after I refused, a ticket stub from our first date, and lastly, poems i wrote about him. I knew I shouldn’t have read through them but the masochist in me won and i really felt it hit me.
and the note we left on was bitter and awful and full of hurt and absolute confusion.
I wasn’t sure who to believe at that point because nothing was adding up and i felt like my brain was going to fucking explode because so much was happening all at once and then you were just gone
and all that’s left is me and her talking about the past and talking about how we’re gonna make it to the future.
i haven’t had a meal in a while. I am trying very hard not to worry but it is getting worse. I am skinnier now than I ever have been. i am weak, and tired and my wounds take a while to heal. I am never hungry so I never eat, only when I get dizzy or when I am out with friends. I eat with them so they can stop worrying so much but I think I should stop because it’s getting bad. I can feel my hip bones now which is an entirely new thing for me given my state a couple months ago. it has to be the stress but I don’t know how to fix it. but thinking of food now just sort of makes me sick and that worries me because I can’t have then worry about me like last time.
everything reminds me of him.
old cars, dimples, brown eyes, large steering wheels, dinosaurs, even fucking burritos.
he follows me everywhere I go and it sucks because I just want to heal and i cannot do that if he is still here in my mind.
memories in his bed and in his stupid beautiful car play in my head on a loop when I am alone which is the WORST because all I want to be right now is alone.
brown eyes aren’t the same for me anymore which means I can never look my own damn self in the eyes without wanting to ball up my fists and pull at my hair.
i wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.
when my dad catches me sneaking in at 3am i dont know what hes more disappointed in. the smell of cigarettes on my breath. the loss of trust. or the sight of tears in my eyes from letting you get to me. he taught me better. better than to slowly kill myself and better than letting a simple boy make me feel less than the goddess he raised me to be.
when i wake up at 3am clutching my chest i dont know what to feel. and i dont know what to do. so i grab the pack stored away in my drawer and use my lit candle to ease my thoughts. i wipe my face and i close my eyes but the scenes of me begging you to leave me alone always flash.
it was 3am when i searched up harassment and manipulation. it was 3am when i stared at myself in the mirror and wondered how i let out get this far, this bad, this messed up.
it was 3pm that i told somebody. it was the first time i ever felt like i could breathe. it was the first time i ever felt like i wasn’t going into battle by myself.
but the tears never stopped and I’m out of cigarettes. the war is not won. i still wake up at 3am and now i beg for 3pm.