skylines and turnstiles - mcr / saint sebastian - antiguo de lisboa / flectcher sibthorp

Faith by  Christian Benetel

mellow.doodles

Devil Horn Crystal Brass Knuckles by Debra Baxter (me)

i am the knife and the wound

charles baudelaire // nicole homer, underbelly (2019) // unknown // matt maeson // nayyirah waheed // @heavensghost // @anmcrtist // emil m. cioran “encounters with suicide” // claire schwartz “shards with diffuse light” // richard jackson “basic algebra” // detail from “the suicide of lucretia”, 1525 by meester met de papegaa // “life of the party” olivia gatwood // emil m. cioran “the temptation to exist”

I don’t know if I will grow out of this

I do not know if I can

SECRETLY HOPING I CAN FIX MYSELF

I go to therapy, the waiting room is yellow tinted.  The blue door opens twice before she calls me in.  I sit. My thighs stick to the plastic chair. But I have to wait another ten seconds before I can shift again. She asks me what I would like to talk about.  There is nothing. My chest a gaping hole of anxiety shaped galaxies.  We talk about everything yet nothing really. And I sit and breathe and stare. There’s eye contact but I don’t feel it. There is feelings but I’m too afraid of them.  I go home.  I eat. I sit. I see friends.  I sleep. I go to a therapy appointment again & again.  Hoping they will fix me. Secretly wishing I can fix myself.  I’m angry at this world for having me in it. And that sounds like I don’t want to be here. But I do. Just not like this. I do not want to sit in those plain rooms with the plastic chairs as my therapist stares at me waiting to spill.  The words I use taste bland now that I’ve said them too many times.  The same misery on repeat I go to therapy. I walk home.  Panic crawls over my skin And these hands find ways to set me free To end the cycle I go to therapy I eat, I sit I see my friends I sleep I do it all again