I thought one day I would grow out of all this self destruction. We age and realize these emotions are for the teenagers, the twenty somethings… the foolish souls. Not me, not when I am finally so wise. In march I will turn 30, and I still drink to much, and I still throw up most of almost every meal I eat. I still wanna ruin good things, and break apart the parts that should make me happy. Sometimes I see my self and I just punch the reflection, and other times,I am okay.
For real okay. Not the okay you whisper to stop the questions. The kind that feel content and warm. The truthfully OKAY we can smile when we say…
Today I keep allowing the pain to come. MY eyes are so close to tears and yet I sort of feel grateful today, and also angry, and a little disgusted.
My throat is raw from throwing up, but I don’t feel bogged down by the nuts I ate, because they are no longer there. They get stuck coming back and remind me one day this shit could kill me, but when I puke it’s like hitting the back space. I get to rewind and make a new reality. The only reminder is my flushed face and watery eyes.
Its control, its freedom.
Like the wine I drink to much of. Like the smokes I watch light up the night and there sweet foul smell that I hide under perfume when I sneak back inside.
I wonder what its like to feel normal. To not feel like a character you barely know sometimes. The walls and secrets I keep to get threw the day… They could fill libraries. I should be so lucky… To live here, and yet I still wait for more.