wasted

"there is never a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why it happened, or why it ends, or why or who you are. you want one and i want one, but there isn't one. it comes in bits and pieces, and you stitch them together wherever they fit, and when you are done you hold yourself up, and still there are holes and you are a rag doll, invented, imperfect.

and yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. there is no other way."

marya hornbacher

i call in sick to work and then i sit in my mothers room, legs outstretched, bones pressing against the floor, sunlight on my back. i read wasted. i finish it in a rush, tumbling over the words, gasping for air when it is over. i read the paragraph above again and again, trying to slow the frantic clattering of my heart, the realisation that this will never be over.

sure, i will get better (if i try). but i will always be different. i have seen the world from outside the tidy box of sanity and although i can learn to eat and live and laugh, i cannot undo what i have seen.

but yet, like she says, i will always be me. when the broken pieces get put back together the picture will be different, but it's okay. i will still be me. you will still be you.

that is all that matters. that is all that we have.