Kinda Wanna Leave. Kinda Wanna Ghost Everyone. Kinda Wanna Rot Under A Blanket. Kinda Wanna Feel Loved.

The cold and the void have made me into a deadly concoction of shivering mess.

And many, many valleys of sorrow and mountains of death.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a diary entry featured in Earthly Signs Moscow Diaries, 1917-1922

This. Oh man, this.

Until you live with bpd you'll never know what it's like to be too much and not enough at the same time.

I can't feel the hurt or the pain,

only the excruciating absence of happiness.

“The other day, lying in bed, I felt my heart beating for the first time in a long while. I realized how little I live in my body, how much in my mind”

-Rodger kamenetz, from Terra infirma

I write this with

melancholic music

blasting in my ears.

It's comfortable,

relatable.

It's hopeless,

as I long to be.

Sometimes, I cry so hard I can feel it in my ribs. / I feel like the real me is backed into a corner inside me

— Ama Asantewa Diaka, from "Saturday Evening WhatsApp Message," Woman, Eat Me Whole

The music dances inside my mind,

It's beautiful and it's urgent

It's my escape from words that I can't find the symphony to write.