Overcoming Depression, one day at a time. Recovering from a recent abusive relationship and my own life-long struggle with self doubt.
20's. Scorpio. Female with a past that you wouldn't understand. I spend most of my days sleeping and most of my nights daydreaming. I'm searching for balance and my own happy place.
Sometimes I write, but mostly these days I can't put the words together so I give up and end up reblogging things that speak to me. I'm into WAY too much and I never finish anything:
- aspiring tattoo artist
- aspiring musician
- aspiring writer
- aspiring artist
- aspiring entrepreneur
- aspiring cook/gardener/crafter/domestic queen.
- accomplished daydreamer, tea drinker, slacker.
What I know of survival is this:
how to adjust my body around the cool spots in bed,
the way my hair is never exactly right
when I leave the house for a hopeful second date,
the imprint of my bra on my skin after coming home
and letting my dress pool at my feet.
Missing you and missing you.
I eat olives and arugula standing up in the kitchen,
wearing nothing except underwear and pearls.
I do not recognize myself.
Being sad only makes me thirsty.
I drink two glasses of water, take an aspirin,
dance with myself slowly in the living room.
Everything comes back to me in moments—
flashes of your skin, the freckles on your chest,
your perfect wrists, a kneecap, the small of your back.
I peel away the sadness to get down to the pit of the thing
and can never quite manage to finish it.
My hands smell like oranges, clove cigarettes.
Pounds of sadness. I get out of bed. I run the bath.
Chocolate shavings and blueberries for lunch.
Little things, but I am handling it.
Yesterday, I almost called you to tell you that I love you,
but then I remembered I’m not allowed to say it anymore,
and it is awful. You are with me even when I brush my teeth.