warm these frail and lonely bones.

i open my eyes again and my feet hit the floor, im not really there. im a spectator in my own life, turning it off to make it through the day. i see through my eyes like a tv screen, like it isn't my life to live. like i can walk away from my own body if i wanted to. but im trapped between my own skin and bones. i put on makeup, widening my eyes, lifting my brows, i appear friendly, happier. i curl my hair, everyday, just so it looks like i have it all together. getting ready is a blur, my face in the mirror is not one i care to see for too long. or at all. i like to look through myself, like its just a dressup game and im the character. 

i get through the day with a smile, or a look of mild irritation, but i hold it together. i turn it off and pretend to be fine, and most days i dont have any memory of things i do or say, or what work i did, or who i talked to. i am not present enough in my own mind to play a part in my life. 

i get home, and the switch flips, i am all of my feelings at once, and the girl in the mirror doesn't look how she should. i look scared, and exhausted, and sad. and its true. but i hate it. my slightly downturned lips, and quivering chin, my shaking hands and blood shot eyes, my frail bones sticking through my frail skin. im cold. all the time. i get cold sweats daily, because im anxious, and underweight, and my hair falls out. but im cold. im so cold. 

i get home, and its me, and my brain, a cold bed, my own cold skin, and hair i lose on the pillow. i love cold weather, it gives me an excuse to wear a jacket, or to get the chills, or to wear long socks. i love the cold. it gives me a reason to seek out warmth i would otherwise be looked at sideways for. 

im cold, i am not okay, and i dont feel right. im tired of wanting to sleep and never wake up but truly if i can find peace in between the nightmares under a warm blanket, i will stay there forever. put me to sleep and keep me that way. warm these frail and lonely bones until i burn to ash and make me a tree, pick apples from my branches and bake a pie. eat all the calories i never could, and fall in love with the cold because its beautiful, not because its a good lie. recognize my loneliness and understand that on my loneliest days, i loved the hardest, i begged for any shred of love through compliments and acts of service. hoping to gain approval or praise or a hand grazing my arm. i wanted simple human connection but i never could verbalize that. instead i loved so hard it made it impossible to not love back at least a little. and thats sad. i dont want to see anyone beg for love and affection the way i do. 

all this jewelry.

 heart.

 this organ, this symbol. dictates most decisions, relationships, emotions. this heart of mine, has dragged me to hell and back. but more importantly, it lets me feel every human emotion. it lets me feel love, and sunlight, and joy. it beats faster when im scared, warning my body to protect itself, it slows down and lets me know that im comfortable and protected by the people im with. it stops and skips a beat when i feel excited. this heart, reminds me i am alive. this heart, knows how to love, but she struggles to accept that she could be loved as well. she slows down and lets me breathe, but she speeds up the moment im alone. she lets my brain overtake her and create ludicrous theories and scenarios, all of which would never really happen. this heart of mine, feels betrayed. every other organ in my tiny body fights her. my head, my stomach, my lungs. even my limbs are against her. i used to scratch at my chest, right over my heart, until it was raw and red. i finally stopped doing that a few months ago, my chest is clear of scratch marks and my heart feels lighter somehow. i've gone back to fidgeting with this necklace instead of plucking at my skin and trying to claw my heart out. 

wrist.

my left wrist was always the one i used to checked my pulse, to see if my heart was truly beating as fast as it felt. it was always the one i wrapped my fingers around to see if my thumb and my middle finger still overlapped.  i didnt always do that, but once i started it was hard to stop. it was like my heart was telling me all along it wasn't right, but she sent that heart beat as a "please stop killing me" kind of sign. like she was saying, "hey im still beating for you, please take care of me". it wasnt about the number on the scale, it was about the corners and crevices of my bones showing clearly through my thin skin. and now its about the healing, its a reminder. the scars that were there are faded and invisible. the corners of my bone there, are less prominent. i still wrap my fingers around my wrist, but its to adjust my bracelet, or check for growth. my left wrist is a reminder that it's going to get better. i've gone back to fidgeting with my bracelet, instead of tracing my scars and bone. 

fingers.

my fingers used to be something i was too aware of. like they were pudgy and short, and my nails were jagged and chewed to the skin. the edges always picked red and raw, and sometimes bleeding. i wore long sleeves to hide my wrists and fingers. and now i buy tank tops, and i dress my hands in rings, new and old, yours and mine, silver or gold. i paint my nails and let them grow. i use these fingers to transfer all my positive energy to those around me. i use these nails to gently caress my arm before bed, as opposed to trying to claw my heart from my chest with them. instead of plucking at the skin around them, i spin the rings, and pull them on and off. i've gone back to fidgeting instead of drawing blood from my own temple. 

i used to hate wearing jewelry, especially the sentimental kind. but it seems to be my saving grace recently. giving me love to remember when i see my wrist. and giving me comfort and a good way to cope when i feel my chest. giving me something to spin on my fingers when i shake with anxiety. all of them are reminders that i can get better, reminders that im worth love or at least worth life. to me this is progress, and i couldn't have gotten to this point without learning to accept love, and help, when i need it. im still working on it, but all this jewelry, all these ways im coping. remind me im not as alone as i always feel, and its not as hard to get better when there's people who are trying to show you that you're worth it. 

6:30am at the bottom of the sea.

 what am i allowed to need, or want? who sets the rules and limits, how does this work? i would love to know how much, is too much? 

i want to sleep through the night, i need someone beside me. i want to eat twice a day, i need someone to remind me that food is important and i’ll look healthier if i have some. 

this needing i do gets really exhausting, this wanting i do gets really old. 

i am the rustling of the trees and the chirp of the crickets. it’s nice at first, almost peaceful. but after a while, the rustling sounds like tv static, and the chirps seem repetitive. it gets annoying. i get annoying. 

i am the condensation on a cup of cold water, and the steam from a warm mug. you don’t think it’ll bother you, but it makes a mess, or it’s just a little too warm. it’s inconvenient. i am inconvenient. 

i am the creaking floor in a silent house, and the candle you forgot to blow out. it’s quiet until you press too hard, and it’s not a problem until it burns the house down. it’s unfortunate. i am unfortunate. 

annoying, inconvenient, unfortunate. 

needy, in the way, broken and in need of repair.

need, need, need. 

i didn’t realize just how damaged i was, or how much care i required. it was never brought to my attention. and now i feel like i’ve been plunged into the deep end of the pool. and all that’s at the bottom is all of my issues, my needs, my wants. 

i thought hugs were supposed to be few and far between. i thought my nightmares were normal. i thought my walls were supposed to be this high. 

i never realized i could fill the whole sea with all my issues, wants, and needs. i realized hugs don’t have to be few and far between. 

but the thing is, one or two hugs in 24 hours, is still only 20 seconds out of the day. 

the thing is, my issues are mine. the nightmares, the tears, the anxiety, the pain, the insomnia. they are my cross to bear. so i hold back. 

i cry in the shower now, so it’s silent. i make a plate for lunch, and most days it finds a new home in the garbage where no one else will see. i battle the insomnia on my own at night. i write, or read, or cry, and just wait for the nightmares to start, because my brain doesn’t know the difference between rest, and restless sleep, right? because if i made a plate, i don’t have to eat it too, right? because you didn’t really cry if no one else heard it, right? because my issues are mine to deal with, and if you’re quiet you can’t possibly be annoying, right? because i can’t let my own insomnia keep someone else up, or inconvenience them, right? because pain is less unfortunate to everyone else, if i hide it with a smile, right?

this sea im drowning in, will not let me breathe. 

i hold back. i try to need as little as possible. i try to want as little as possible. i hold back. i’ll settle for 20 seconds out of a day if it means you’ll still love me tomorrow. i’ll toss the plate if it means someone else will remind me how flat my stomach looks. i’ll cry in the shower if it means no one else feels responsible for wiping my tears. i wouldn’t, haven’t, and won’t, ask for more than the bare minimum. so yes, i am settling, at the bottom of the sea with all my issues, wants, and needs. trying to just get through it, and reach the surface on my own. as many times as i want to ask for help, i think i could drown in that one reoccurring thought. as many times as i need a hug, the ocean floor would have a foot tall layer of my wants for affection. 

i hold back, and it drowns me, but i’ll gladly drown alone if it means everyone around me is breathing on the surface. my issues, wants, and needs are an anchor and i am not strong enough to pull it up alone, so let me drown. 

set me on the ocean floor.

 mother’s day. 

From the moment I woke up. it was heavy on my heart. A boulder that I was not strong enough to lift off of my chest, a weight I was too weak to lift. 

I startled myself awake after too little sleep, and instantly the waves rolled in. The tide rose with every post, message, and reminder. 

I was drowning in a sea of my own tears before my feet hit the floor, and let the emotions swallow me whole. That boulder on my chest anchored me down, trapping me in this ocean and pulling me under with each passing hour. 

I flailed my arms, and gasped for air, I tried to reach the surface. Everyone says it's not that deep, but it is. There is no sandbar to stand on or hand to reach out for. It is that deep. 

Because I am not a mother, and I'm no longer a child. I always walked between those two on a fine line, being tugged back and forth by those who I felt responsible for. I am not a mother, nor did I get to be a child. 

Before I knew it would drown me, the responsibility made me think I could've walked on water if I tried. 

I changed diapers, soothed fevers, dried tears. I cooked the meals, packed the lunches, washed the dishes. I calmed the nightmares, swept the floors, showed the affection. I checked grades, monitored social media accounts, signed the forms. All for children I didn't create, filling a role that wasn't mine. 

It wasn't always just being the "mom", it was being the guardian. I took the brunt of every bad mood, jumped in front of every swinging fist, or thrown object. I held them and hugged them, and told them you'd be home soon. I reassured, and comforted, and supported to the best of my ability... for years. 

I was a child. You were not a mother. In your eyes, I was a maid, a babysitter, a punching bag, a waste of space. I was not ever enough, unless I was doing too much. Too much cleaning, too much makeup, too much studying. But some days you wanted me to be less. Less eating, less emotional, less worried. 

In my eyes, you were everything. My whole world. Every decision I made, dish I washed, head of hair I braided, was to gain your approval. I never did. But damn did I try.

I excused every night out that you wouldn't answer the phone, every party I had to clean up, every hateful word you spewed in my direction. I decided that because you were my mother, you had a reason. There was a reason for every time you hit me, every time I took care of your kids, every time you left in the middle of the night with no shoes and no phone. 

I justified it all, just because I love you. 

It was never justified, it was never warranted. 

Your children called me mom more than they called you at all. When they started their periods, they came to me. When they started dating, they wanted advice from me. When they were scared of you, or anyone else, I was their comfort. I filled your shoes and kept them cleaner than you ever could've. 

Now I'm guilty. Those were my babies just as much as they were yours, if not more; and I let you rip me limb from limb, pound by pound. You took away my strength, and my composure, and left me empty and broken. Too sad and scared myself to soothe anymore tears. I was too exhausted to jump in front of your fists, and too drained to absorb your anger. I was left as a shell of a person with no energy to protect my babies. I had to give up, I had to let go. Not because I wanted to, but because I was weak and withering away, drowning in the sea that you were. 

This is the first mother's day I am without you, but I'm without my babies too. This is the first year they haven't told me happy mother's day. This is the first year they resent me, this is the first year they hate me. This is the first year they want nothing to do with me. This is the first year they are going without the comfort they've known their whole lives. 

This is the day that I am doused in guilt and wishing it was gasoline to light myself aflame. This is the day I hate myself for missing you, and hate you for making those kids miss me. This is the day I loathe. This is the day I would gladly leave that boulder on my chest and let myself be drowned. This isn't the first day I'd have wanted to let the boulder set me on the ocean floor, but it is the worst day. 

This is the day that is about you, even though I feel I deserve it more. This is the day you gave me, and took away just as easily. You made me a mom, and resented me for it. You made me a mom, and punished me for it. You made me a mom, and deserted me over it. 

You made me a mom, and tricked my babies into thinking I'm the problem. You took my babies. 

So if this boulder drags me down, I'll let it. If the tide rises and pulls me under, I won't fight. I hate this day. I hate all the days. I hate you. I miss you. I miss my babies. I hate that I still love you. 

happy mother's day. 

kansas, let me go.

 i love you. 

i love you with every shedding hair, and lost pound. i love you with every sleepless night. i love you with the trees at 5am when i know you’re awake somewhere. i love you with every meal i skip, and cigarette i smoke to numb the hunger. i love you with every mascara wand and concealer i apply. i love you. 

i miss you. 

i miss you with every song we used to love. i miss you with every text i’ve reread. i miss you with every car that looks like yours. i miss you with every glance in the mirror, like your face is staring back at me. i miss you. 

i hate you. 

i hate you with the raging wind of anger that followed you, and the wild tornado of passive aggression that tore us apart. i hate you with every memory you gave and ripped from me. i hate you with every heated argument and every cold silence. 

I feel everything for you at once, like the storm is made of lightning and thunder and rain and wind, i am made of you. 

i feel the dry heat of the desert under your stare, and hear your voice in my head like a state i can’t escape from. i am trapped between hot and cold, love and hate, heal and hurt, lost and found. 

i am dorothy, enamored by oz, but somehow still missing kansas. i don’t want the red heels, because i’ve made a home in oz, but kansas, goddamn do i miss it. 

The weather is terrible, and the cyclone is around the corner. It’s a lonely, windy place. oz is euphoric and colorful and comforting. but how am i to find peace in oz when i’ve never known peace at all. 

kansas was my tornado and i found comfort in the storm. i don’t want to click my heels and go back, i want to kick my heels and forget. i want to feel safety between the colors and the flowers in oz. 

kansas, you stole my peace. and oz isn’t as beautiful when my mind is turning against me. but is it really mine, if kansas is screaming for me from the core of it? 

kansas, let me go. i don’t want to need reassurance to feel wanted, and i don’t want to feel like a burden in oz. i just want to feel comfortable because goddamnit i’m not in kansas anymore.