2:16am again

I can’t stop crying and it’s not like a tear now and then. It won’t stop and I can’t stop, I don’t want to. I just feel so lonely, and not a lonely that I’m used to. I kept tell myself and others that you need to be okay on your own but I’m at the point where I’m always alone. I drive people away. I don’t have anybody. I keep thinking I have you but I’m not even sure I do anymore.

I think I’ve made up this delusion that you still care and are in my life, because without that I’d truly have nobody. I’ve opened up to you and I’m so scared that you’re closed off because that would cause everything to fall apart. We don’t even talk, and you’re not even there when I call half the time. Probably more than half the time.

But I think I would go crazy to know you’re actually gone. Though I also want to know if you are so I can hide away from everyone. Without worrying if I’m leaving anyone behind. I’m just.. I don’t even know anymore. I’m nothing.

I don’t want to exist, in some ways I feel like I don’t. How that is, I’m not quite sure. I mean I’m here but not you know?

I know you must get tired of my late night texts/calls, but if you’re up please answer. You’re the only person I have that I actually talk to and I’m just feeling.. I don’t even know..

scars and prescription bottles 

I sit in skin that doesn’t feel my own, it’s a detailed map of each hand they’ve laid upon me.

See?
This is the scar from that 8th grade boy.

See?
This is the mark from when I thought I was unstoppable, glass was my kryptonite.

See? This is the scar from that one time.

You know the time I tried to run in front of a car because I thought that if it hit me I wouldn’t have to go back to see her.

The scar isn’t actually from the car or from tripping over the curb, it’s from that glass she threw at me when she found out I tried to kill myself.

All I remember are the bruises she created and the feeling of his grips on my wrists, nothing more than a cage I can’t escape from.

Why didn’t they tell me that you can’t escape your problems if they’re within, but they did.

They did.
I just didn’t want to listen.

I don’t want to listen, but I can no longer ignore the scream of my own voice.

I no longer recognize the face in the mirror. Almost as if I don’t want to know me, why would I?

That would mean remembering the touch of strangers on my skin, and that feeling has become far too familiar. 

I wish I was as good at refilling my happiness as I am at refilling prescriptions bottles.

My body feels more like a pharmacy, not a home but more like hell. I don’t feel like me anyway, so it’s all worth a shot – 

at least I know it’ll numb me.
and that’s better than not being me.