Dear Body:
- I am so Sorry
i am tired. i am exhausted. from my head to my soul to my bones i am so fucking tired.
I’m trying so fucking hard and no one sees that. I’m trying so fucking hard to stay alive but my breathing is getting shallow and my heart is beating slower and if I don’t wake up tomorrow just fucking forget about me.
“I owe myself the biggest apology for putting up with what I didn’t deserve.”
— Unknown
“She is written in a foreign tongue.”
- Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady
(via)
I swear I’m not a person anymore. I don’t laugh, I don’t feel joy or satisfaction or anything even remotely positive. I find sadness in literally everything. It’s like my brain isn’t capable of processing the good stuff anymore. I feel pain. I am pain. There’s nothing else. I don’t even have a personality anymore. All I am is pain.
"I just want to be okay for a day. I want to wake up and be happy to be alive. I want to enjoy the company of people around me. I want to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see. I want to breathe the air freely and enjoy life."
— things people with mental illnesses wish they could do
Okay. Come on, then. I love you, get up, we are going to keep going. Repeat this to yourself in a mirror or in a whisper or in the shower or in a shout. I love you, get up, keep going.
I am tired too. It's okay. We will sleep in the car ride over. We will sleep on each other's shoulders. We will sleep upside down and in the laps of new friends and on the bellies of our lovers and in the hands of better tomorrows. We will sleep and we will wake up rested and we will wake up happy and we will wake up home again.
I love you, get up. It's time to write "maybe next time" on our gravesite. It's time to write: it could not kill me, I would not die. It's time to write a love letter to the sun and our one-act play and the history of our keychains. It is time to write a future where despite everything, we are finally warm and safe.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Get up. Keep going. We are going to be okay.