since making up my mind 2 years ago that I wanted to be alive, I’ve never felt differently since then, even for a moment; I am fully committed to remaining here on this silly planet, in this silly body, til natural causes do us part.
around the same time of that decision, something inside me also died – the same “something” that saw and touched and tasted everything and sensed it all to the core, and felt everything so hard – loved so hard, hurt so hard, hated so hard.
everything that happened in that short span of time between getting out of the dull hell of high school and the nearly-attempt at leaving my body has left a deep, permanent mark on me – like prints made on soft cement – it only took moments to make, but years and years of countless footsteps passing over them cannot erase them.
I don’t know if it is the same for everyone, and I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for it, probably something about the prefrontal cortex – but my mom bonded with me due to the oxytocin flowing through her body as an effect of creating a tiny person that is half herself, and knowing that wouldn’t have made it any less wonderful and aggravating to love me, (I think) so science can go and be quiet in the corner for now.
it just amazes me how much the old memories still affect me; how I remember every detail of a day from four years ago better than I remember what I did yesterday.
I wish the marks had been gentler.
In my mind everything is still sharp as knives, everything still cuts so exquisitely.
I told her once that I wish I had met her when I was younger, and I struggled to explain it, because the truth was dancing out of reach in that tender moment: I wish you could have laid your prints on my soft heart, I wish you were not a footstep over the hardened surface.
of course, I feel quite certain that it would not have hurt any less than anyone – maybe even more –
but it would have been so beautiful –
sometimes I want to feel shattered by someone who’ll press “something” inside and put me back together –
offer my throat and blood to someone who’ll refuse –
reveal my weakness, tell them exactly how to destroy me, watch them not do it –
I don’t know why I want this – I guess I’m tired of trying to be strong
Im tired of walls, I’m tired of hardness, but I also fear destruction