About getting better

It's been so long since I've attempted to write about getting better.

For in the same breath that I assured my father that I was going to be okay, I choked on my own vomit and was pleased with myself. 

So, when I'm writing this garbage about acceptance with myself.

I can't help to feel like a hypocrite as I organize my priorities and put my well-being at the bottom of the shelf.

It's haunting because I've been in this anhedonic daze for years, but the triggers are so ripe and intense when they find me.

How can I tell anyone to look up or relax... when I am holding hands with bloody knuckles and smiling with a mouthful of decay.

If I even tried to compile a list of what's eating at me, I'd probably just eat it first and throw it up and hope that what I had to feel disoriented about was good enough to be considered depressed.

For even if I had tears in my eyes, they would have to have a viable reason for being there.

And my reflection and demeanor isn't something I can't unravel into an excuse because they're so tightly bound and secured to my heart and I feel sick with my unamused expression and the sound of my own voice.

How could I tell you that it isn't anything except for the fact that I am in living inside of a person that wants to evict me. 

That I honestly cannot picture myself a year from now, that I couldn't tell you if I'd even be here.

While I reach out to others and help them find their way, I refuse to apply what I believe to myself because I am so incredibly undeserving.

Then I obsess over a boy, and am offended when he cannot fill the spaces I've dug out.

I take a disgusting amount of time to decorate my ship and send it out to sea and hope that it sinks.

And pity myself every night for not being the person that if I didn't do this, I could so easily be.

I've cried myself to sleep, high on things I couldn't name.

Staying up and over-processing, and towards the morning I feel what resembles okay.

So, this is me writing something about getting better.

I hope that someday I can say that I have.

But for now, if I wrote something about getting better.

I might never write a conclusion.

Won't even know how to start.


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