do you know what it’s like to want to kill yourself? to shed this shell of a human form you’ve haven’t quite settled into in years? because I do.
and not surprisingly, it isn’t as romantic as Tumblr makes it out to be.
there’s nothing beautiful about carving a timeline of all the times you thought someone would be around for into your upper thighs.
there’s nothing poetic about finding comfort in a bottle of sleeping pills and a fifth of tequila.
there’s nothing remotely artistic about the way your ribs jut out at a every angle now because you can no longer stomach a meal.
I think, for the most part, I never actually wanted to kill myself. I wanted to kill who I had become and maybe one day become someone new.
no, I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to feel alive again.
so, I set fire to the part of me that told me life wasn’t worth living. I burnt her to the ground with every laugh that bubbled out between my lips. she became ashes when I remembered what it felt like to be happy.
I started ripping apart the version of me that had become so unkind and cruel not only to herself, but to everyone around her. with every compliment I sang, every positive note that rang through my ears — I tore her apart. I tore her into a thousand pieces before tossing her to the wind.
the part of me that insisted on killing myself? I began to wrap my hands around her neck. I strangled her. she drew her last breath months ago because how dare she suggest I didn’t have a place in this world?
I have struggled and crawled and fought my way to who I am today. I’m starting to be proud of her.
because see, I’ve killed myself many times. but only the parts that have caused me damage, that caused others heartache and immense pain, that told me life had nothing left to offer.
and I’ve begun to nurture the parts that wilted long ago.
they’re growing steadily now.
Featured Image via : Thought Catalog