A/N:

Trigger warning for references of depression, anxiety, suicide, self-harm. 

––––

One day ago I ate cookies so sweet they hurt and I worked my body until my muscles burned, until I felt strong and whole and solid.

Two days ago I started reading again, I started talking again, I started connecting again, looking up and not down.

Three days ago my eyes stung, my heart ached from spilled truth and my arm bled for the last time.

Four days ago I curled up on the sidewalk in below freezing weather in the middle of the night, chased to the intersection, screaming at the beasts in my head, selected the car, lifted my foot, held my breath and felt like I was in control for once in my life––

Breathe in, two, three, four.

Out, two, three four.

Follow the lines of the square.

Stop listening to them, stop arguing.

You are trying to survive but where has that spindly twisted path/road/journey gotten you?

Are you suddenly freed from the slashes down your wrist,

Are you forgiven by your demons for saying such wicked things to the ones who put up with you,

And are you hugged by the wall you bang your head into, wishing for silence?

Functioning. I'm told I'm fucking functioning, highly adaptable. They say I wear my heart on my sleeve so why does where they see anger I see insecurity and where they see ignorance I see terror?

Why whenever they see me do I see worthless? I'd give my life up for others in an instant, what can I do for you, just like mi casa es su casa your problems are mine to carry for you, let me cut myself so you don't have to bear the scar.

Am I not good enough, kind enough, straight enough, conformable, moldable, inferior––enough? Am I just so easy, so pathetic, so worthless to reject?

But I've got my mother limping after me. She's crying, and she's so, so afraid. And I can't stop twitching and talking to my reflection because it won't just shut up and please I want to be better you've got to know I want to be better I want to be a perfect daughter I want to be worthy of your devotion, a golden prize for wasting away your life for mine.

But the pain in your eyes is worse than the pain spreading like an infectious disease in my chest.

Breathe. One, two, three––

Four days ago I tried to kill myself. I saw The End and I felt pure relief. I don't want to die I just want silence [efficient, quick] and I want to feel nothing [the easy way out] and pain really is the only way [the sweet, golden-crested ocean wave of being addicted to the feeling of not feeling].

Four days ago I lifted my foot to take a step without saying goodbye to those who would shatter once I left. If I can't fight for myself, I'll fight for them. I'll fight for you. My life is worth something in the way I can make other lives worth something.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll find something within myself worth fighting for.