I’ve only been home from the hospital for a week, eight weeks of therapy and long walks by myself. My father told me it was the only thing he had left to offer, to send me to an institution after I barricaded myself in my sisters room that my mother had decorated. I added to the floral sheets with my own drops of blood and I would watch them with no feeling at all as the blood dripped and soaked into the threads, and I imagined, that’s how you felt. That’s how you felt, soaking into each fibre of my being. As it turns out, it takes a lot of blood to soak an entire sheet and most people pass out after losing that much blood. I am no different to most people, and I’m still torn between regretting doing that to my family and being caught before the blood had a chance to reach the floor too.
At first, I refused to eat, and did nothing but sleep for weeks, and months. I tried to be good, I tried to be so brave for everyone that ever believed in me and held my hand. How often did someone kiss me on the forehead, and tell me that in time, I would feel better? I wanted to nod, to open my swollen sore eyes and at least, for just a moment, pretend to care. I wanted to care about the love that was being extended to me but had no space to feel it, I was too full of self loathing and the feeling that my life was over before it ever had a chance to really start.
I hid away during the days and sneaked out at night, to find someone who would hurt me as much as I hated myself, who would validate my feelings of how little I was worth. I figured at least we would have some kind of connection, at least for an hour or two I didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I was. I found myself crying for the child I once was and scrambling to hide any of the innocence I no longer felt while rough hands scraped over my skin and turned me in any way they pleased. I stood, laid, and kneeled, pressed against walls or floors or cold damp alley brick walls. I would come back home covered in bruises and the only thing that would outweigh the shame I felt was the pain every time I turned in my bed. I read all these books and tried to figure out what was wrong with my head, and the only things that stuck were that we accept the love we think we deserve, and that I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself. But I do. I tried to piece it all together, and I lost the fragments under train tracks and on airplane runways. It was too much to think about so I figured before I got caught trying to take the easy way out again, I’d just leave it all behind, figure it out as I go. I fell into strangers beds and decided to give them all the pieces of me I no longer wanted, left them like pebbles all over the world. It’s how I lost and tore myself apart while trying to hold onto consciousness with someones hand pressing down on my throat after I asked them to take my breath away. I couldn’t feel a single thing unless it was leaving a mark on me, somehow to remind myself that there was some life left, while I begged and begged but told them to never stop. 
My therapist told me that change started within myself. After sixteen sessions he was none the wiser, his training failed him just the way that books and promises and all the love notes in the world had failed me. 
And now what, I asked, our session is over. We agreed some people are just broken, and he was sorry he never fixed me, but my god did he try. 
I guess there was no saving me after all this time. I was too good at being just how I am, and some people are just like this. I think they are the ones you try to stay away from, because no matter how much you want to save them, you will always save yourself before you drown together.
And so I was back in this little room, the door shut to keep all of myself in. Watching the blood soak the sheets, dreaming of how things had been, and feeling worse than ever before for not being the daughter, the sister, the friend or the lover that I was meant to be. 

babybehemoth:

Anxiety attacks are the worst because sometimes you have no idea why you’re crying or angry and you just think of everything wrong in your life and you can’t control it all you can do is breath in and out and cry it out

(via realrussiandoll)

I want to trust you with a secret
tonight
that I haven’t told another soul
but you
maybe if you remember the night that you and I
first met
you’d know all about what I’m going to tell you
now
but you forgot, and that was how and why we unraveled
and got lost
in the bright city lights that used to guide us home
to each other
there’s too many nights i wished you’d come back home to me
i still do
the way you’d arrive and never want to leave again
in the morning
with your tired sleepy eyes you’d look over at me and breathe
i love you

And repeat it, a million times, with your eyes, your lips, your soul.
I love you, I love you, I love you.

always.

it was as dark inside as it was outside
almost
i couldn’t really see the room spinning
only feel it
like I felt you
and tasted your lips
sweet whiskey still clinging on 
to the corners of your mouth
and I think I fell
in love with you
for just a minute
a sweet, secret moment
leaning my head on your chest
before remembering
I don’t believe in love
not since a long time