An iron heart is the strongest.

Sometimes it isn’t them, that’s causing your own heart to break. It’s you. It’s always been you. You and your ridiculous, materialistic idealism that you expect to make you happy. That you expect to fill that void that’s been in your heart for so long now. It’s become so easy. So incredibly easy to push everyone away and guard your heart, that it’s almost a reflex reaction now. Almost as if it’s been written in your DNA, as if it’s a part of you. And in many ways, it is. You grow so numb and so incredibly shut off from your own emotions that when you actually feel them, it’s unbearable. You grow used to the pain. The invisible hands that encircles your throat and makes it hard to talk. The fist that squeezes your heart and makes your hear every painful thump. The invisible magic that crushes your lungs and makes it hard to take a cleansing breath. The puppet strings that hold you up and help you move through the day, robotically, mechanically; without emotion and without feeling. 

Sometimes, you wish your heart was made of iron so you didn’t have to feel it strain under the pressure anymore. Because everyone knows that metal is strong; and an iron heart is the strongest. 

Blah

My mom is allowing me to stay home tomorrow to study for the SATs. 

But I’m not that worried about them. And I should be because my score could you know, potentially decide my future. 

Ha.

Ha. 

Yes!

I got into my Medical Careers program at school!

Ahh, I’m so excited! 

Whispers to An Empty Wind

I feel my heart physically shatter, like a glass cup falling to the floor. Bile rises in my throat and tears cloud my vision as I stumble past you, willing myself to hold it together for just one more second. I fall and I crash into this quicksand of nothingness, a black hole that has no beginning and no end; a labyrinth with so many twists and turn—that the harder you try, the more complex and twisted it gets. The sharp throbbing in my temples intensifies, to the point where I can’t feel or sense anything besides the ache in my head. The dull thump thump thump of my blood rushing through icy veins tells me I’m still alive, and yet my heart is beating so fast, it’s the only thing I’m able to hear. It beats like a trapped bird, hopelessly, incessantly, beating its wings against the steel cage in an effort to be free.

And yet there you sit. With disapproving stares and critical eyes, watching my own demise. You ask if I’m okay, and I say yes because I can’t bear the thought of seeing those same disapproving stares again because I know it’ll break me ever more. I can’t tell you what’s wrong because you don’t feel comfortable, any of you. You’re supposed to be the one person in the world I can talk to, but when I actually do want to talk and be honest, the same critical stares return. And my throat closes up, my chest constricts, my lungs shrink and I can’t breathe anymore. Because that stare, the stare that says I’m crazy and weird and so completely inadequate, reinforces the fact that once again I have failed. It is the one that I try so desperately to avoid, to run away from, because I see it too often. I feel it too often.

You don’t need to tell me I’ve screwed up, believe me, I know.

I want to scream to the winds. 

And as I sit and grapple with my own heart shattering, you tell me you’ll be there for me. But you aren’t.  Not really. I want to talk to you, but it’ll eat away at your insides and I can’t have that. Someone has to be whole. Someone has to be okay. Someone has to survive. 

I don’t need to hear everyone’s bones break and their own hearts shatter under the weight of things I cannot say. 

1112pm:

I want to be surrounded and then I want to be alone. I want to be alone and then I want to be surrounded. I can’t make up my mind. I want to be alive but I do things that kill me.

selfinspiration:

I cannot wait for my two and a half months of self-imposed isolation.

Summer, where art thou?