Nobody Ever Tells You How Painful Growing Up Really Is. Or Maybe They Do. Maybe That's All They Ever

day 15

3:50 a. m.

but really, we do get through everything, don't we? no matter how painful, we suffer through to the other side. i'm not sure what that says about us. i don't know what i feel about it. but it happens. this unimaginable will to stay alive. to forget the suffering. i don't know what to do about it.

day 16

10:40 p. m.

songs from a time forgotten. my poems in a language you'll never understand. our fingers never touch. there was a promise once. of a day meant to be spent together. a promise to never let go. maybe you gave it to someone else. maybe you always knew i was going to break it.

(and yes, i do remember another promise. to myself. to never spend any more of my words on you. i try. but maybe that's how i keep all my promises)

i'm so close. so fucking close to not caring. i'm so close to not giving an actual fuck about anything. anything. i could just stop. stop paying attention in class. stop doing my homework. stop studying. just stop. and no one can make me do anything if only i choose that.

i'm so close to the point where i just stop caring. about anything, everything. and it's scary. it's fucking scary. cos this isn't what i should want. i shouldn't want to stop, to give up, to leave. i'm too fucking young to think that life isn't worth it. i'm too fucking young to feel this tired. i shouldn't want to stop. i should want to live. i should want to read at a french café on a rainy friday. i should want to see the whole world from the top of the highest mountains. i should want to look at the skeletons of times gone by and people who tried to make a difference. i should want to know every single story that ever existed or ever will. i should want to wake up at one end of the world and fall asleep on another. i should want to write down all the words that are inside me. i should want to see the sun rise in rome and see it set in new york. i should want all of that. i should want to live. live a goddamned life. but all i wanna do is stop. all i wanna do is go to sleep and never wake up again. all i wanna do is stop. what do i do?

day 19

9:58 p. m.

this ends for us today, stranger. for i loved you, but i hated this too.

you came back today. you asked if i forgot to laugh while you were away. maybe i did. but i won't tell you. you asked how long it's been since you left and i pretended i hadn't been counting each day, writing out all these days to make their passing a little more bearable. but you're here now. it's going to be okay.

to the stranger reading this, i'm glad you were here. glad i wasn't alone. but here is where we part. for now.

goodbye

it's always when the anxiety is gone that i realise how bad it really had been. how crying everyday is not normal. how it's not supposed to hurt when you breath. yet somehow, when it returns (and it always does) , i forget again. i pretend life is supposed to hurt this much. that looking at beautiful things is supposed to make you wish you were dead. but it doesn't hurt now. so i'm writing this... as a reminder, for the next time. remember, it got better this time. it got better every single time and you were glad for that. it will get better this time too. it will get better and there'll be rains and clouds and poems and songs and stories and people to look at and be with. it will get better and you will remember how much you love to write when it's not to simply get rid of the pain. you will go to bed giddy with laughter and take care of your body even if it's a long way still to love it. you will sing along to your favorite songs and dance you will say i love you to all those you love and hear them say it back. you will see that it's not just darkness waiting for you in the future. that there's a dream you have. one which you love working for. there'll be words and smiles and memories and so much more. this feeling I'm feeling right now, i'm giving it to you through these words. this happiness i feel, i hope you remember this.

idek these days. are these happy? or are these sad? ig these are the middle days... the normal days that normal people have, when they follow their schedules and do normal people things. but like, who even are these nornal people? who here does not have something hurting them at any given point in time? who here does not get days and weeks and months when they just... can't. i can't believe that exists at all. but maybe it does, who am i to judge. maybe i would like to be there someday. someday...

day 5

6:49 p. m.

maybe it really is that easy to get over stuff. or maybe it's just doing everything you can so you don't have to think about it. denial. ignorance. or pain. who knows which one is better. i don't want to find out that answer.

“It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.”

— Sylvia Plath

home really is the strangest of all places. you only ever seem to have one as a child. older, and you wish to run away. the first place you wish to run away from, no matter how much you proclaim to love it. it is only when you do leave, when you need a home thr most, that it ceases to be home anymore. it is only when you yearn for it more than anything you have ever yearned for, that you cannot recognize it anymore. you wish for home, but home doesn't feel like home anymore. you wish for your mother's arms, but she is not the mother you grew up with. or maybe she is and you simply do not recognize her anymore. when you go back, you run away again. and again, and again, and again. running away and away and away. towards home. wherever it may be.

day 1

8:44 a. m.

for all they say about death, about pain, time seems to move relatively fast when you're not paying attention to it. the last conversations, the last pictures... what to do with them now? now, when this pain doesn't even make sense.

reminder to self: playing lorde on repeat only makes you cry in your coffee and crying gives you a headache. don't do that. also next time, try more than 10 alarms in a row. that might help.