life.

My mother tells me that my hair looks nice

"He did a good job trimming it"

My curls have settled well, she says

I smile in response, too ashamed to admit that

My hair gets this way when I don't bathe every other day

And I don't remember the last time I had a bath

Whenever I do decide that today,

I will wash my hair, shave my legs

Put on an outfit that doesn't look like a sack

A tiredness falls over me and I instead have a quick wash

And go back to bed

I share a picture of my cat with a friend and tell her

I can't post it online because I have promised myself I won't until I'm no longer sad

It feels like a threat to my brain:

You either get your shit together or lose the one outlet you have to vent

So far, it hasn't worked. I don't tweet. But I'm still sad

The truth is, I started hating myself, this person I've become

Always so tired and angry and sad and awful

I didn't want to spend another minute with myself

And the thing about hating yourself is that

You can never escape yourself

You don't need to tell me this is selfish, because I am aware

But I desire company just so I can be held

So I can rest my head on a shoulder, hold a hand that doesn't let go

To remind myself that I am still here

Still breathing, still present in this moment

You also don't need to tell me that this will pass, like everything else,

Things will get better, I just need to hold on until then

I am aware. I know.

But that doesn't make it any easier.