A lot of artists use struggle and hurt to make art

I've done it too

I’ve written about my need for independence

About the little girl who I was

And about how lonely this world can be

I haven’t explored who I am in love

Because that’s a person who I am still getting to know

She is intensely vulnerable

She is much more patient and willing to change

She is still getting used to the safety that he brings

And she is shaking with terror at the thought of being left alone again

These past few years have brought me a lot of realizations

I’ve learned so much more about my body and my brain

And I’ve felt them at war with each other

I have fallen into a hole deeper than I ever imagined

Some would write themselves out of it

I can’t.

I read stories I wrote year ago, and it it's as if a stranger wrote them

I can’t imagine them coming from me

I can’t imagine anything being created by me ever again

All I feel is the weight in my chest forcing my heart to pump harder and faster to stay alive

All I hear is the thoughts in my head telling me that I’m useless

An anchor attached to my loved ones

All I see is the fat stretching out angry red skin in the mirror

Eyes that seem to always be holding back tears

Or, even worse, not holding them back

This shit.

It chases me in my dreams

It won’t let me rest

I wake up in fogs of anxiety and panic

I turn to see him sleeping soundly and am all at once

So grateful that his body lets him sleep

And so jealous of the rest he gets

Why not me?

When do I get to sleep?

I would tear this matter out of my chest if it were really there

I would open my skin with my own fingernails

If it would help

If it were as simple as bleeding it out, I wouldn't hesitate

If it would make it easier for me to be around people again

To not be fearful of every sound, every dark corner

Of being left

Of failing at work

Of failing my loved ones

Of not being enough

Of being left alone

Of deserving to be left alone

Of never getting back to who I was

A person who I wasn’t even that fond of to begin with

I wrack my brain for a way to turn this into art

It can’t be that hard

It’s never been this hard

Will it always be this hard?

I take my pills every day

I step out into the sun

I move my body

I take breaths so slow and deep that a yogi would be proud

It helps

Sometimes

For a blissful moment, that I am grateful for,

Then the world speeds back up and I’m me again

No amount of words can change it

So why bother?

I do bother

Because this can’t be forever, can it?

Please don’t let this be forever

Please tell me this is just a part of my life that I will write about one day