What we had was a deep and sentimental love. We drowned in each other’s sadness. We were nearly suicidal at the thought of life without one another. We cried and complained and wallowed in our sorrow and our deadliest attempts. Everything was dark and passionate and we showed each other that the world was an awful place but together we could be safe with another victim.

When we broke up, I cried. And that’s an understatement. I was a mess, a snotty, weeping, uncontrollable mess. I’ve washed my pillowcase dozens of times since, and blurry smears of stained mascara still reside on the pink polka dotted pattern. Every day after you was darker and more bent than the last. Nothing brought me joy. I thought, if I couldn’t be with you, then why was I alive? My only purpose had been to be with you, to belong to you.


It wasn’t until much later that I learned what love was really about. My second love was the kind of love that showed me what my first love never was… And for that, I am eternally grateful.

With him, we complement each other. We bring each other happiness instead of combining our mutual depressions. Love can exist without heartbreak and mistrust and tears; this is something I never knew with you.


I would like to say that I learned something from you, or that I somehow benefitted from the time we shared. But god damn, I would be lying.

You are lovely and I am lovely, and yet together we bring nothing but toxicity. It has taken a comparison to greatness and true love to help me realize that ours never was. We had nothing but a mutual death wish.

Our scars make it evident that it would be dually beneficial if we had never even met.

—  K.A.B., In Regards to My First Love // (I’ve Deleted the Heart From Your Contact Info)

I can’t feel my face, and my hands are shaking and cold.
I can’t breathe, or see past my tears, so what’s the point of writing? I feel like I could scratch all of my skin off and not feel a thing. I miss you so much. It’s funny how everything can be going so well, and then fall apart.
I exist. Please talk to me. I love you so much. Oh my god I can’t even function without you. How can I breathe when I know you’re okay. You can walk away from this and I can’t. I can’t find someone new, you’re all I think about. I’m freezing cold but my skin is hot. My vision is drawing in and out, my head is heavy and I’m not sure where my heart is. I have so much to tell you but it’s not like I can say anything.
My voice isn’t pretty and you won’t listen to me anyways.
— I spilled my drunken heart on this paper (11/22/14)

For My Love

In the dead of winter
the cold of night
the bitter wind howls on

And as it wails
the chill creeps forth
and infiltrates your soul

Hold on my love
cling tight to me
remember who you are

For I am here
and love you so
and never shall I leave

We’ll wait together
till spring comes fast
and waltz beneath the sun

Take care of yourself
and by that I mean
I’ve watched you run 8 miles straight
and eat 4 strawberries for breakfast
and half a slice of toast for lunch (with a teaspoon of jam)
and pride yourself for being healthy

Take care of yourself
and by that I mean
I’ve watched you use the phrase “nothing is impossible” as a weapon against yourself, a driving force to attain the unattainable

Take care of yourself
and by that I mean
you got that internship you wanted and the straight A’s you desired
and I know you want a round of applause but sadly I can’t join in
I watched you pop pill after pill and never smile and wear yourself sick just to achieve your goal
and denied it when I asked why the little space under your eyes were becoming black holes

Take care of yourself
AND BY THIS I MEAN
I sat and watched as you screamed in my face and got defensive when I said this
when I said “take care of yourself”
Because whatever chord those four words hit,
It hurt too much to bear
And you’d much rather be comfortable with being uncomfortable
and show everyone how wrong you think they are
Than admitting this all to yourself
And giving yourself a break

I hope you take care of yourself
Because you’ve turned yourself into a robot
Forced to oblige by numbers set by calories and pounds and inches and grade point averages and amounts of achievements and successes and wins
But can’t remember the last time you slept in
Or treated yourself to the warmth of those chocolate chip cookies made fresh and by hand
Or wrote an entry in your journal
Or had a deep soulful laugh
Or didn’t turn down a night out with the friends you had before they got tired of trying to reason with an empty being
Or even considered getting help (because you are human yet strive to be spotless like an unboxed doll)
but please
because I can’t force you, only hope for you
take care of yourself

—  n.c. "Take Care of Yourself"

I.
Dear math teacher,
I’m sorry I didn’t do my homework.
I was busy last night fighting off the demons that made a home inside my head.

II.
Dear English teacher,
I’m sorry my essay wasn’t done.
I was preoccupied last night, trying to eat my dinner without having my third mental breakdown that day.

III.
Dear history teacher,
I’m sorry I fell asleep in class.
I was up all night trying to decide whether or not there was still a point in staying alive.

IV.
Dear school system,
I’m sorry that I’m the one filled with so many apologies.
You should be sorry that I feel the need to apologize for my mental health.
You should be sorry for making students believe that their grades should come before their lives.
You should be sorry for your lack of education and awareness of psychological diseases.
And you owe me so many apologizes for all those fucking nights when I stayed up late to finish my homework, despite the blood pouring from my wrists.

—  I said sorry, now where are your fucking apologies? // Hannah B.