"Kind" by Eisley
Don't let the world
Fall on your shoulders
Saturday October 5, 2013 7:50 PM
I don't know if I'm okay today.
Last night, I was taking a walk around 3 am (cross out last night, say early this morning) and Ethan called me. He sounded so tired. He told me to tell my parents to call him because he was worried about my sister hurting herself.
I still can't process this. We went to visit her today. We brought her two banana cream pies and a dozen apple cider donuts. Ethan grew a beard. He looks good with it. As we pulled up to Caroline's [my sister's] dorm, I was listening to "Broad Ripple Burning" by Margot and the Nuclear So and So's and I saw a leave flutter gently from a tree onto a layer of fallen leaves. I remembered where it landed, and got out of the car to pick it up. I mean, I ran to it. At the moment, I felt so poetic. Then I realized I was an idiot. I still kept the leaf. It's veins are the color of mud. It's blood was unclean.
I barely slept last night, but I'm not tired. I skipped my pill.
The other day (and I swear this is going somewhere, bear with me) Micah told me about how she felt she wasn't moving forward in basketball. She wasn't getting any better or worse. I realize I feel that way about my writing. I write essays I hate for class and the teachers like them and find them insightful. Why? I don't know. I don't mean to be insightful. That's how my mind works. I'm pretty sure when they say "insightful" they only mean my thoughts are slightly deeper than the average OMG CLOTHES girl.
That wasn't very nice to others of my sex. I love clothes. I don't know, today I just feel superior to everyone. Like smoke twisting and dancing, untouchable. I can be anything except real.
In the car on the way home from Caroline's, I held the little handle thing above the door the whole way home, which is like an hour and a half to two hours. My hand went numb and I felt like icy wind replaced my blood. My ears hurt and I felt nauseous from not taking the Seroquel. It felt good to hurt.
Since I haven't been cutting, I've been resorting to ordinary pain. A new thing each week. First badly bruised hip bones from hitting myself too often. Then a cut on my knuckle from using my punching bag without gloves. I guess I need something this week.
I think about cutting way too much. Even when I'm happy, I remember the quick sharpness of splitting my skin, allowing oxygen to taint my blood and turn it crimson as it ran down my arm like paint on a wall.
I feel wrong. Not depressed. Cold inside, as always, yes. I feel so wrong.
I miss Aaron. I talk a lot about Lily, but I miss Aaron. Aaron was more reliable than Lily at times. We wrote letters to each other while she was gone, even though I took forever to reply. We shared our sadness so we knew what was up in each other's lives.
Then I got lost.
I am what's wrong.
I know that, but please don't tell anyone. The chills I get are for no one else. The numbers on the scale are part of who I am. Words. Words are everything. If I were a piece of art, I'd be a collage of words or better yet, a beautiful piece of literature. Or maybe I'd be a tree turned into paper, and on each piece of myself there'd be gorgeous words that'd build a gate into a different realm where the sun only shone when you wanted it to and people cried because there were so many realities.
But no. I'm stuck here.
The realities part, though. That I see. Sometimes I worry about myself. Actually, I always worry about myself and that makes me worry. I imagine Lily was dead. I imagine a lot of people dead and what my life would be like, or what would happen to me if I were raped.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the disgusting fantasies that I dig skin from the palm of my hand and sob.
I am what's wrong.
Today is so wrong.
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