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* trigger warning: self-harm*
for the past few weeks, ive been dreaming of relapse – of gliding the cold shiny tip of the blade along my skin, of a well deserved self-punishment for the attributes i lack and for the toxicity ive put forth.
im tired of making everyone around me miserable, of constantly shattering like a ticking emotional time bomb. im tired of forcing everyone to dance around me just to appease my fragile ego. im tired of being me, an unworthy, spiteful little bitch who cant appreciate the accomplishments of others because im so boggled down by the voice in my head.
and i hate myself for that – for not being stronger, for not making more money or having that financial stability, for not being a supportive girlfriend, for pushing everyone away, for being a complete monster to the one person whos supposed to matter most.
i did it last night, an impulse action on my end (and im so sorry, im not strong enough – im not enough, period).
i gave myself some more tiger stripes last night, running the x-acto blade in long horizontal lines, letting the beads of blood drip down onto the pink tile floors of our bathroom as i kept the door locked.
and it was my boyfriend who came to my rescue (why are you always saving me?), taking initiative to clean me up, bandaids to stop the bleeding. it was my boyfriend who had to wipe the blood off our bathroom floor because i was (am) too catatonic and broken to take care of myself.
so im sorry, for not being enough. i dont deserve him, especially with all the gentleness and care hes handled me with as i throw child-like tantrums, reuniting with my old coping mechanisms.
i deserve it – this self-punishment, this heaviness of being unworthy. and id be lying if i admit it wasnt satisfying, to turn the knife on myself because i keep hurting the ones i love the most.
i fucking deserve it – these red gashes on my upper thigh, the tiger stripes formed in moments of weakness.
im never going to amount to anything, and i just dont understand what the point is anymore of my aimless little life.
im just a moody little nobody, and i dont deserve the kindness or the love or the sympathy.
“lets leave no words unspoken.”
at this point, ive tried everything to accept my boyfriend will be making twice what i make, as hell be transitioning into his new job tomorrow. ive tried running away from home so i can blast music and go on my clarity drives, ive tried the plain-and-simple method of “just talking it out.” ive acted out like a child, ive ranted to my circle of support.
nothing is working. its a travesty, really – with congratulations flying all around him from our friends, family, the only person left bitter is me and maybe i just resent him for that.
i had expected to grow together, but that doesnt seem to be the case either way because one job change. and theres a sudden looming air of superiority (at least how i picture it; so far no one else feels this way) and i dont even know what to say to him anymore, about anything.
its ridiculous maybe, wanting to break up with someone because theyre suddenly making more money than you, that you no longer feel satisfied because this isnt what you pictured for yourself.
today my boyfriend took me to our nearby shopping plaza (mostly for errands but also ended up staying for lunch). he feels the resentment from me and i tell him im trying, i just cant be happy and maybe im just a selfish bitch for not being satisfied with anything in my life lately.
i called it “our last supper” – not because were ending, but i get this gut feeling that everything is about to change, the second his hourly worth is higher than mine, when he subconsciously transitions into the finance fuckboy we all know and love to hate.
i dont want him to be like his dad, controlling his mom to the point where she barely speaks. i dont want to be like my aunt, whos hid in the garage from her husband – a doctor, even – because she was fucking terrified and money equals power.
im convinced hes going to change (with the money and the power), and i dont want him to change.
“our last supper” – the only bit of normalcy that i have left to cling onto, our last time between us where we are equals.
no words left unspoken – because i told him this after two valiums and two glasses of champagne, sobbing in my red balenciaga sunglasses in the french restaurant at the farmers market portion.
“and save regrets for the broken.”
and i keep wondering if ill regret it, if i just moved out today, cut ties and ran away indefinitely this time. if ill regret not letting him in, for all the resentment i hold for him, for the self-pity i shower myself in.
its getting harder and harder for him to love because im a difficult bitch. and i know im hurting him, being vengeful even by building my wall up all because of a stupid fucking job and some more money on his part.
so heres what ill do, in the words of a day to remembers “all i want”; “to keep your hopes up high and your head down low.”
of course, emo music is the mood – throwback to the 2010s era, a day to remember, bring me the horizon, and pierce the veil on a loop.
im not doing too well lately – and it shows. and if you didnt know that im drowning (both in the literal sense, but also figurative as i drown my emotions out with pills), the music playlist as of late should show you all.
so ill continue listening to my emo playlists, cry in public from the distress and pain of just simply existing, try to play nice with my boyfriend who has done nothing except try to better himself.
maybe i can try the same, to better myself so i have other things to think about besides the fact hes better than me. just not today, crying has completely obliterated my energy.
GFY, fleur (in the red balenciagas)
i remember when i had first spoken to you – september 18, 2010; a date thats been engrained in my memory, the password to my iphone for all thats worth.
i was 19 when you died (it still feels so strange saying that you had died – even more bizarre that its been over 7 years since then and the words still sting). when i first learned that you had passed away, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.
you were one of the strongest people i knew, and i envied you for your confidence, boldness throughout our friendship.
when did the world dull that inner radiance you wore so well?
im sorry i never tried harder to keep in touch. im still shitty at keeping in touch (too many thoughts for my little brain to process).
i still think about you. a few days ago when i was back in my parents house, back in my childhood bedroom, i went through my sophomore yearbook.
your message was the first one i saw – i mean, it was inevitable since you wrote on the cover, your note scribbled in purple sharpie, mostly written in german with a hint to use google translate. i never translated your message and maybe that was a good thing. maybe knowing what you had actually said would make it lose its magic, the mystery of it all.
in english, you had written that you love and will miss me (you were going to boarding school the following year).
im sorry i never told you how much you mean to me. its always been second nature to pretend i care less than i genuinely did (i guess i still do this – a defense mechanism and all?).
im sorry, for not telling you that i give a shit about you, that you matter. the “i love yous” mean nothing if youre not in this orbit anymore.
if i say it now, could you hear me?
and i wonder what youd think of me today, if youre currently looking down on me from wherever you are in the afterlife.
are you disappointed, are you proud?
this is my first time writing about (to) you in years. to be fair, i had a writing hiatus as i found more comfort in drugs, intoxication and recklessness to drown out the sorrows, the guilt and the regret.
i wonder if you know about all the external chaos in my life (and the internal chaos that i hold privately).
i never wanted to be, the person you see,
but thank you.
thank you for giving me the voice i needed to find so badly when i met you at 15, the boldness i held because of you (up until my 2019 breakdown). im trying to find it again.
can you help me?
i still think about you, even seven years later.