Please Don't Go Before I Get Better

Tonight I'm thinking about the beauty of embracing life's chaos with knowing that we can't choose a lot of things, but we can choose to be good people. we can choose to love without ulterior motives, and to be stronger than our emotions makes us feel, and to always keep spinning forward. it's all okay, it always will be.

I'm in a constant battle with reality and pretend with who I am, who I want to be, and who I wish I could be with picking up the pieces, painting portraits of something strong, something whole, something to be proud of and shattering crystal vases on wooden floors while smiling, without blinking with seeing just how far I can run away from myself without forgetting myself

I want to be the free spirit I know I am, not limited by my anxiety or depression. I want to be independent like I feel when I walk by myself in the city. I want to look at other girls and see loveliness rather than competition. I want to be so content with who I am that I forget to consider myself at all-instead, I just exist. I want to be self-aware, to know exactly what I want and need, and to go after it without hesitation. I want to chase the life I envision for myself.

we are so lucky to love, to know the light and dark parts of each other's souls, to get to feel anything at all. none of it is in vain.

But you were never really there, and I lie here motionless caressing the memories of a ghost

but when i find a place to put my love, i will fucking die for you. i will hand over all my rations until you are fat and happy, and i am shriveled and happy. i will follow you across the country and i will take care of your dog and i will do your laundry. i will love you even when you yell at me. i will try to kiss you when you turn away. i will write poems and you won't read them. i will pretend that this is enough. this is enough. this is enough. this is enough. this is enough. this is-

it's easy to look back and romanticize the bits of time when you were first getting to know someone. both of you were looking at each other the same way you have to look at the sun when it's in the middle of the sky; squinting because it's so bright.

it's amazing how music can do that: make life feel so much more real.

I swear you always knew me better than I knew myself. You saw me in ways I didn't know how to see myself yet. I was happy listening to you snore while I lay awake. I was happy hearing you talk about things that mattered to you, and realizing that they mattered to me too.

I realized that hopeful feeling was just that: a feeling. and feelings keep you up at night, and they ake you feel sick when you're perfectly healthy, and they life. I didn't want to convince myself of a false truth just to feel okay.

on days like these, sunny and slow, i am supposed to be happy, but all i feel is emptiness and doubt. what if i always feel this way? maybe only some people have purpose or find purpose. how do i know if i am one of them?

i used to be surrounded by silence and static. each day would blend with the ones before and after it—a repetitive song of waking up, feeling sad, and hoping tomorrow would be better. i used to like being alone because no one could ask how i was doing, but then i grew afraid of being alone because no one would be there to save me if i wasn’t okay.

it’s easy to look back and romanticize the bits of time when you were first getting to know someone. both of you were looking at each other the same way you have to look at the sun when it’s in the middle of the sky; squinting because it’s so bright. then once you get to know them deeply, you look at them the same way you look at the moon—you can stare at it for hours, mesmerized by its glow, and not say a word. in the beginning, you see an incomplete version of someone. as time goes on, you begin to see someone fully, and you no longer have to wear your polarized ray-bans, and somehow that makes it feel less significant, when really, it’s the opposite, because now, it’s real.

I feel like I am watching everyone else live while I wait for my turn

if we aren’t living, then what are we doing?

right now, i feel i am someone who is cold, insecure, nervous, idle. i am not the person i dream of being. i want to be warm and joyful, like i used to be before i decided i was too fucked up. i crave harmony in my relationships—i want to be better at considering others’ pain, and understanding their points of view without making snap judgments. i want to be patient. i want to be the free spirit i know that i am, not limited by my anxiety or depression.

you must keep following in love knowing that it will destroy you if you believe that this-romantic love, infatuation, obsession-will set you free you will forever be trapped in cages you put yourself in let it hurt and bleed and grow and know that it is not meant to be everything you want, yet, it is everything it is everything.

i used to fear abandonment because i thought that my imperfections made me inferior. that to earn the affection of someone i cared for, i had to beg them, please don’t go before i get better. i believed that someday i would reach this ideal version of myself and suddenly everything would fall into place and i’d ride off into an endless sunset of well-being and stability. and then i discovered that my imperfections do not make me lesser, they just make me human. and these flaws are not detached or impersonal, they are essential notes in the composition of my depth.

i am so accustomed to stomach drops and aching chests i don’t know what to do with feeling like the world is not ending like i have hope in all outcomes like i can flip a coin and walk away before it hits the ground

i’ll pretend that you care you won’t in the slightest

i’m afraid he thinks i am too good for him— i wish he knew i am not good enough for anyone

i walk everywhere. the sun tans my skin and i breathe in the smell of marijuana and flowers and i smile. i get up in the morning and i wash my face and i do yoga and i meditate. i sit in public places where i feel vulnerable and alone, and i let the panic pass instead of rushing home, and then i stay out for hours, soaking up the buzzing feeling of a holy-shit-i-really-am-getting-better high.

it is bitter and empty and numb i cannot even indulge in the hurt cannot cry along to sad songs or find comfort in the vibrance of an open wound it is all around me yet, there is nothing

i am half of a heart with pure intentions spinning in a world that is blurred

you will feel like a burden; you will feel like you are not enough and i will love you because you are more than the moments when you cannot properly love me back

friends who come over on tuesday evenings and sit on my couch and eat the baked brie i’ve put out on the coffee table, laughing, the corners of their eyes crinkled, a fully contorted face that only appears when you’re really, truly blissful.

somewhere i can bring my neighbors muffins when they first move in and water their plants while they’re away. our dogs will be friends and we can talk about politics between mailboxes. i want traditions, and family, and familiarity. where i am now is a place between places; traveling is a lifestyle, instead of a vacation;

you will not go out with thunder on your heels you will leave in a whisper or rather make me feel that it was my idea

something i’ve recently discovered about myself (thanks to some external criticism) is that i am, in some twisted way, addicted to hurting. for whatever reason, i continuously search for things to hurt me. i expect the people i care about to always have some secret, cynical second layer of being hiding beneath their skin; a layer that does not care about me.