On the count of five, please put on your brave faces. Hold up your bleeding fists- let everyone know how hard you can punch. I hate apologizing when I’m right, but this time I mean it. I swear I do. Look how low I sank just to show you that I’m not an anchor for your sadness. You’ll feel better in a few says, I fucking promise.

Drowning was lovely. Dunk myself in a bone- white bathtub. The frothy mess meeting at the crown of my head creating bubbles at the surface. If this house swallowed me whole, I don’t think it would digest me well. It would puke up the memories that escape my tear ducts and sting my cheeks. This is how my world ends for a little while.

I hate how uncomfortable adjusting feels . It’s like my back is breaking to try and hold up the pressure- I have imprints of angel wings on my shoulders because I swear one is surrounding me at all times. My mother was crying in her sleep again last week. I heard her call out for my father and I think he was there. He had to be there. Do you believe he was there ? I’m tired of apologizing for over explaining things that make no sense to you.

Good things still come out of sadness. You can’t experience joy without some sort of crushing occurrence- nothing stays with you forever. I hate that storyline, but I read it over and over and over and over. I wish everyone that loves me could memorize the moments that haunt me and give me grace: It happens like glass shattering in my palms from squeezing to hard- millions of pieces glowing like a disco ball until the red plasma tries to stick it all back together- if this happened to you then you’d immediately throw away the glass, right? You wouldn’t let yourself continually try and pick up the pieces to make it look how it used to. You probably wouldn’t dare, but thats how grieving feels.

Light hums across my room like a ghost. I see it even though my eyes are closed. Watch it dance over my walls as it wraps me in mourning air- tells me to wake up. I finally do. Let my eyes open fully. They’re starting to ache again- I wish I could see without a filtered lens- wish I could see everything clearly on my own- wish I didn’t need an aid, but I do. It’s always the start of a new day that makes me want to stay asleep for hours and hours and hours. I think this is my fathers way of waking me up- beaming a ray of sun across my room to show me that I can still see what’s in front of me if I look hard enough.

Everyone calls me strong. I don’t think this means anything. what does the opposite of strength look like to you? Please don’t give me an answer because I feel like I’m sinking deeper and I don’t need to live up to anyone’s version of sadness. Milo comforts me from the hallway as I walk through the door. I’ve been gone for an hour, but I’m his whole world- and I don’t think he realizes that he’s mine too. I answer unread messages for the first time in days. I calm the waters and float in the comfort. I remember that people care and loneliness doesn’t have to be so lonely, after all. Milo jumps up from the couch and kisses my cheek. I count down from five and force a brave face- and even if that is a frown, it’s my body’s reaction to giving me what I need. I’m sick of judging that. Tell myself this means everything, whether I believe it or not. AMT