i cherish the revolting thought,that even if i quit,there’s not a chance in hell i’d stop.

i’ve wanted to cry all day.

i am filled with a melancholy that i can not attribute to anything specific.

i can feel the sadness. it sits in my chest. it wells in my throat. it pools behind my eyes.

i feel fragile. i am fragile.

i rarely let that fact be known. i would not strike most people as fragile.

my sharp tongue and fierce self preservation fend off that accusation.

i would more likely be described as strong.

people tend to think of me as strong.

i survive.

i will get you through.

well,

let’s be brutally honest, i am barely getting me through.

i am, in truth, far better at navigating a safe path for others. my own route remains unknown. unfathomable.

i have reduced the frequency of the assualts on my flesh, but i can’t stop.

this reduction is, i fear,temporary. that isn’t even true. i don’t fear it’s return. i yearn for it.

i long for the day when i can slice myself up with impunity.

i’ve wanted to cry all day.

i am more accustomed to shedding my grief in blood.

the tears won’t come.