my sadness is asking to use the bathroom during class just so I can lock myself up in one of the stalls and break down completely without worrying about people watching me. my sadness is trying trying trying to write but my hands are shaking too much to do anything but bury my head in them. my sadness is typing up messages to friends about what a shitty day it's been, but deleting the whole thing just as I'm about to send it, because no one deserves to be burdened by my problems— this is my struggle and mine alone; and I need to be able to deal with it. my sadness is not being in control of my own thoughts; not knowing how make the screaming voices stop. my sadness is absorbing the pain from people around me and letting it weigh me down.

--

my sadness isn't rainy days and a few "sad songs". my sadness isn't "she drank the whole bottle but your name still burns at the back of her throat". my sadness isn't me spending time in children's playgrounds, surrounded by people with thoughts darker than mine ever could be, and a taste for drugs and danger. my sadness isn't "she smokes now, but her mind is still as hazy as the day you left". my sadness isn't dead flowers sitting on my bedside table, or anything that can be encapsulated in a tumblr photo or quote. my sadness isn't beautiful, nor poetic.

--

it's just sad.

I'm a sad girl, but I've gotten better at controlling it.

now I only let myself get sad once Loneliness knocks on my door and invites itself in.

it tends to do so past midnight, but it does enjoy keeping me on my toes.

sometimes, it'll creep up on me while I'm in the car,

and a song comes on the radio that reminds me of you.

I'm a bad girl, but only occasionally.

I'd like to think that I'm a total badass

that can pull off the whole "I don't give a fuck" attitude. but I can't.

so when you try to picture me as I tell you I'm a bad girl,

don't picture me as a mysterious teenager with a taste for wild adventures and vodka.

picture me instead as the girl that lashes out at people, and

is known for being a bit of a bitch.

———

I'm a sad girl, and most of the time, it's because of you.

which, I suppose, might amuse you,

because you do enjoy the thought that everything is about you.

but it isn't, really. not anymore.

of course, I think of you, from time to time.

but I know I never cross your mind, and I don't think I ever did.

and somehow the thought of that was enough to help me make peace with what happened.

I'm okay now, with letting you go. Loneliness has found other people to entertain, as have I.

———

I'm a bad girl, but not really.

I'm much too vulnerable for that.

but I've learned that there is strength to be found in that—in weakness.

I wanted to be invincible, and who can blame me, really?

isn't it every teenager's dream to be on top of the world?

but being undefeatable and creating distance between

anyone that tries to get you to open up

are not the same thing.

and if I had to choose, I'd rather be sad.

at least then, I know that while I'd have crazy mood swings and bursts of darkness,

I'd be in full control of my feelings.

and one day, I'll be okay.

 forgive me for not functioning fully today it’s just that

there’s a rock situated in my chest

and it blocks my windpipes

and i can barely breathe,

let alone hold up any sort of conversation about

something small and meaningless,

pretend to smile, pretend to care.

forgive me for not functioning fully today it’s just that

sometimes i trade places with atlas because really

no one should have to carry the weight

of the world on their shoulders for too long;

that shit will gradually crush you

(i would know).

forgive me for not functioning fully today, it’s just that

i couldn’t sleep last night.

everyone says that, i know i know

but i mean i literally could not sleep.

the voices in my head decided to hold a meeting,

evaluate how i’m doing (they do that sometimes)

((after speaking for several hours, they all agreed that i’m a terrible human being and

i’m doing an awful job at personhood and i

deserve to be miserable)).

forgive me for not functioning fully today, it’s just that

i’ve had a lot going on lately and

i’ve been trying to outrun it and

i’ve actually been doing a splendid job

but i just need some time to stop

and catch my breath, get some water.

rest a bit.

(it’s hard, escaping from yourself).

forgive me for not functioning fully today.

but know that i'm trying. 

i have voices in my head and they yell yell yell and refuse to leave me alone.

but somewhere in my head is a smaller voice, one that seems to be fighting for its life

(and consequently, my own as well).

it reminds me to breathe when I'm suffocating, choking on my own anxiety.

it whispers to me words of kindness, tries its hardest to fill me with warmth

in a soul that's so damn cold.

it helps relieve me of my guilt, one fucked up thing I've done after another.

and slowly, it's giving me the strength to fight for myself.

and i'm beginning to drown out the negativity, too.

i met Happiness today.

​

she’s knocked on my door a few times in the past,

but i’ve always been too afraid to let her in.

but today,

today i welcomed her with open arms.

i greeted her with a hug, tears rushing down my face,

because i’m ready.

dear god, i am so fucking ready

to feel warmth again, so much so

that it seeps into my bones, and

all i radiate is light and love.

i want to emit positivity, you know?

and it hit me, finally, that i can’t truly do that

without first allowing myself to feel it.

so i met Happiness today.

it was love at first sight, and

i asked her to move in with me,

so we never had to spend

another day apart.

she said yes.

i am

one year clean today.

it’s been one year of

wanting to tear my skin apart,

hoping that maybe

if i left enough passageways open,

the Sadness that polluted my lungs

would find a way to escape.

365 days of

praying just to make it to tomorrow, because

midnight seemed to be the perfect time for

Anxiety and Fear of Never Being Good Enough

to come knocking on my bedroom door,

tell me they’ve missed me,

and that they’d be staying the night.

52 weeks of

painting my skin in

every color of the rainbow

but red.

and now,

8, 760 hours later,

i can smile, feel relieved, say

“i made it”.

but there’s a voice in my head nagging at me,

insisting that I don’t have the right to have pride,

be acknowledged.

there’s a constant competition, like

everyone wants to wear the medal of trauma,

claim that they’ve suffered the most,

and thus no one else’s pain is valid.

instead of celebrating our shared victories, we

tear each other down,

make us doubt our own accomplishments.

it’s a constant fight to be the last one standing.

but i refuse to be affected by that, to

let my triumphs be erased.

i am here.

i am strong. i am strong. i am strong.

i fought hard, and i overcame.

i am resilient, and i

am proud.