What You Know When You Know You Will Die

i don't think anyone understands the fragility of life quite like someone who plans on ending theirs. Someone like me, who knows they are going to die soon. I understand that life is extremely fragile, easily broken and impossible to mend. Breaking skin, touching blood and bone and organ, that's all it takes. Humans are more fragile than the typical child's bouncy ball. Or the little girl's doll, or the 100 dollar phone. We break easily. I'm one of the few who try to break it. Try to push push push at the thin barrier between life and death and burst through to the other side, where things must be better. They MUST. because how could anything be worse than the hell I live here on earth.

I've heard this theory that maybe earth is another universe's heaven. That things here are so much better than everything there and that we people are so lucky to get to live such a wonderful life here on earth or heaven or wherever we are because we have happiness and kitty cats and donations and movies and music.

I refuse to believe this. We have starvation, and disease, and hate, and war, and screaming, and suicide, and murder, and violence, and indifference, and oppression, and bullying, and depression, and mental disorders, and horrible car wrecks, and guns, and tragic accidents, and all of this cannot cannot CANNOT amount to heaven.

My guess is that we're living on some other planet's Hell. It's one big joke and the sooner you get out the sooner you can go back to that much much much better world where people are actually happy and kind and caring and sweet. I intend on leaving as soon as humanly possible. I've tried before.

The thing about depression is that though you may have a wonderfully perfect day, the littlest things set you off and leave you struggling to hold yourself together, crying in a little heap. Sometimes I have to physically hold myself in one piece. Wrap my arms around myself and squeeze as tight as I can to ensure that I don't shatter into a thousand glittering pieces. Because sometimes the pain of everything is so bad  feel like I might. That no mortal person could ever hold so much hurt and sadness and pain inside of them without it bursting out like a tidal wave.

Sometimes, when I'm hurting so bad, and crying so hard, and completely listless on the floor of my room I can feel my little heart. It hurts so badly. It's like its under this enormous pressure or is being pricked by one thousand little needles and it just hurts so bad. Traitorous thing. I just want to get a knife and cut it out of my chest and throw it away. It does me no good. It only hurts me more and more.

Oh how I long to cut it out!!!

When I was Little My Parents Told Me...

This poem is so horrifically simple and true.

Boston

In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh it has begun
Dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must’ve crossed,

 she said

"You don’t know me, you don’t even care,"

She said

"You don’t know me, and you don’t wear my chains,"

Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts across

An open field,

When flowers gaze at you, they’re not the only ones who cry

When they see you

She said

"You don’t know me, you don’t even care,"

She said

"You don’t know me, and you don’t wear my chains"

She said

 "I think I’ll go to Boston,

I think I’ll start a new life,

I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name,

I’ll get out of California, I’m tired of the weather,

I think I’ll get a lover and fly him out to Spain,

And I think I’ll go to Boston,

I think that I’m just tired

I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind,

I think I need a sunrise, I’m tired of the sunset,

I hear it’s nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice,

You don’t know me, you don’t even care,

Boston, where no one knows my name,

Where no one knows my name,

Boston, no one knows my name."

What Anorexia Really Feels Like To This Particular Person

What Anorexia Feels Like:

• Weakness
• Hatred
• Heartbeats
• Sweat
• Twitching muscles
• Tired
• Can't stop moving my fingers
• Shallow breathing
• Headaches
• Nausea

Let me explain. When I can find where my mother hides them I consume diet pills by the handful. These give me this horrible feeling of dying and living far too fast. My heart pumps so loudly I swear everyone can hear it, I sweat constantly, I can't stop moving my fingers and legs, I wiggle my fingers and touch them rapidly, one after another, to my thumb. My throat gets this horrible feeling of something stuck in it and my head kills me and my leg muscles twitch visibly. It is the most horrible feeling in the entire world and I would wish it on no one. 

Except myself.

In The Dark

It seems nighttime brings out the worst in me. It's when I feel my lowest, my saddest, and all the monsters and demons that live inside my skull creep out from under their rocks and the high ledges and little indents in the ground where they've been cowering away fearing the light of day. They grab at the gauzy edges of the happiness I've amounted that day and slowly, tentatively rip rip rip all the way up until it in two halves. This first destruction emboldens them and all of the sudden there is a frenzy. Ripping, tearing, biting, kicking all around the sheer fabric of my content. Horns and wiry manes twist in and out of the writhing pack and claws and fangs flash through the moonlight. The little creature that sewed the blanket of happiness dances around, "no no no no" and flutters her hands at the destruction of her beautiful work. But there is little she can do, monsters and demons gobble my happiness, leaving me nothing nothing nothing to keep me warm that night. The unholy creatures prance and sing their horrible songs and horrible chants. They rip at the foundations of my sanity, clawing away at ever softer clay that hold up all I count on to keep me going. They sew their own blanket. One thick and black and heavy with hatred and self loathing. Then they find the huddled emaciated figure of myself and throw the thick felt over it, weighing it down with boulders on the corners and bricks on the edges. So I am trapped. And may never get up. When the sun's first rays peek over the dak horizon the creatures scream and scramble back to hiding places, to wait out the day and relive the night. They have cousins to weigh me down during the sun's presence. They may rest. I shall not leave them.