#weak. stupid. failing. only a fool talks like this. oh but don't worry im safe. safe enough anyhow. oh look nothing's real that explains

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.

#tw suicide #tw suicidal ideation #tw sh #personal #puddleglum hours #tried writing poetry and the very act of trying made me desperately want to harm. i think i'll break my streak today. all the things have #been so bad today. not so much the individual things as they all stack up together. almost the worst most constant dysphoria ive ever #experienced. coincided with eating new stuff which was scary. weighed myself yesterday on dad's recommendation and found out i *believed* #id gained like more than double what i *did*. feel so disgustingly fat and heavy tho why can't i just stop eating. why is everyone #prolonging my existence. serious question. this includes myself. whats the good. im tired but not. and oh so disgusted with myself. #weak. stupid. failing. only a fool talks like this. oh but don't worry im safe. safe enough anyhow. oh look nothing's real that explains #something. but i am safe. aint me as gonna commit suicide today. don't worry about me. im ignorin my friend who's worried about me bc she #has her own struggles. im not gonna ad to them at this point. selfish enough i am already. ive been choking on disgust all day even through #my jubilation over reaching a fourteen day streak. funny i literally don't care now. gonna break it. unless i'm too coward to do otherwise. #i ought. i ought to do other things too. i don't know how long i can keep on going like this. pray for me.