i dont quite know how to interpret
myself this time
i never do
although trying to get these words out
almost seems impossible now
writing seems harder
and words dont make sense

the thing about relapsing again
was that i never wanted to be the girl
 that failed twice
i dont talk about being hospitalized often
but my brain made sure to forget it
to dissociate when i have to
and be depressed only when
im sober

i smoke to forget they stopped loving me
i smoke to subdue family anxiety
i smoke to forget feeling forgotten
to forget im feeling stuck
and no move ive actually made
has been the right one

i dont talk about my suicide
because that's a feeling many
dont forget
talking about it seems obnoxious
because rock bottom isnt so obvious
not anymore -

mental health just became a hotel pool
others were sitting at the bottom
others were makin their way
i was just standing on the edge
floating into the deep
deciding if i should put
bricks on my feet

going to visit the ones that
enjoy the deep end!

the urge to invalidate myself rings
while the knowingness of my pain
interrogates me
"at least youre not dead,
at least your family loves you,
at least you still feel guilty
for taking care of pain,
at least youre still alive."

i dont wear smoking on my sleeve
because since my i was told
to not end up like my brother
ive only used smoking as a getaway.
to try and overdose though?
stupid decision.
my brother barely survived his.

that was unintentional though. -

i dont struggle
visibly like that anymore
i just hate myself in private
and act like this is something
i have together in public.
why fake it till i make
when i can split it 50/50
i t.

rock bottom isnt so clear to me anymore
so my heart hurts for those that see it
they will create their coping mechanisms
they will run and they will hide
from everything they find comfort in
until it damn near kills them
yet i think sadness is a game
to the parts of us that finds it comfortable

comfortable.

the "we find comfort in being sad"
does not describe its simplicity
sadness, i mean
compared to the complexity
of being happy
how being sad has been ones religion
the thing they come home to
how the tears have kept me sleeping

my cheeks are the survivors 
of many broken nights.
my tongue has caught tears
of many forgotten fights.

happiness isnt even that complicated
the guilt trips are

but being that sad
to where happiness feels a chore
the constant aching
for the longing of pain...
sometimes pretending to be happy
just so the guilt stops


makes happiness the conundrum.


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