untitled
i do not know how to exist the way that others do.
I surround myself with meaningless interactions that I will not remember in three weeks time.
I create a narrative in my head with seemingly no plot line,
to make my own feel ever so slightly coherent.
I pace my room for hours on end in an attempt to convince myself that I am alive,
to make the pounding in my chest obvious,
and the static in my ears louder.
Anything to convince myself that I am here.
I stick shreds of paper on my wall in the form of receipts, photos. letters,
to make sure I’m aware that I am more than words on a page,
more than a bundle of organs and skin.
I surround myself with reminders of who I was, am, and should be,
so I do not get suffocated from the vast emptiness of myself.
— I wish to exist directly, not viewing my own life vicariously through the eyes of an onlooker. -
