I’m sorry you had to walk in on a love scene
between me and my disorders;
I’m sorry I didn’t warn you
that I’m more fragile than I look.
I left you hints, or, at least, I tried to;
sometimes I even wore short sleeves,
but who were you to know how to read a broken compass
and who was I to expect that you could?
So I’m fifteen minutes into a panic attack,
but you’ve never had one of those
and the paper bag isn’t working
and my mother’s at her book group
and my sister’s asleep
and my father’s in a different state
and my brother doesn’t really care
you don’t know how to love someone like me,
but I can’t blame you for it,
when I’m the one that promised you I was whole
and you’re just the one that took my word for it.
on loving me: a girl with depression (littlenothingsmysomethings)
When she fucked up, all those years ago, just a little girl terrified into paralysis, she collapsed into the enigma of herself. And that could have happened to me, but I saw where it led for her. So I still believe in the Great Perhaps, and I can believe in it in spite of having lost her.