There's Just Fragments Of Things I Used To Be And Have Borrowed From Other People

There's just fragments of things I used to be and have borrowed from other people

a mess

I am walking at night regularly again. On a corner waiting for the light to change I hear motorcycles. Something told me to put my hood up.

Guess who rode by not 10 meters from me?

Word to the wise

I just watched I, Tonya this morning.

If you're a survivor of domestic violence or violence at the hands of your parents and you're still a bit triggery, I'd recommend not watching I, Tonya.

The difference between me and fully functional adults is that when they make a mistake, they just move on. When I make a mistake, the world crashes around me, the air escapes my lungs and i simultaneously want to hide under my blankets and scream like a banshee out into the void.

I feel unlovable, incapable and inhuman. I want to claw my skin off and jam a stick through the part of my brain that remembers.

My woman has to spend an hour telling me I am still worthy of love and talks me down from running away.

My brain can't yet process that mistakes no longer equal humiliation and pain. And since I'm not getting the punishment on the outside my brain does it to me on the inside.

I can clean a shower without getting a single drop of water on the tile floor.

It doesn't matter that I'll be washing the floor after anyway.

This is lowkey really cute