I don’t think people realise how hard it is to re-discover the person you were before depression or even try to remember your own personality
and if you’ve had depression since early childhood you don’t even know if you have your own personality
you didn’t have time to be a person before depression
and it’s scary having no idea who you are
I can’t even begin to explain how happy and content I am with life right now.
Fuck. It’s ironic how empty I am because
I swear 6 months ago I had the universe inside
of me but I cried the rivers in my bones dry.
The volcanoes in my chest erupted when you told
me you didn’t love me anymore and lava flooded
my body and hardened till I stopped sleeping.
I had stars in my lungs but I burned them
all out with the cigarettes I was smoking
to get you the fuck out of my throat. The
flowers growing at the bottoms of my
stomach are dead. Apparently you
can’t water flowers with vodka.
I had the sky in my veins but it’s
been pretty fucking stormy since I
ripped them open. I had planets
on the tip of my tongue but
the debris from the shattered
remains of “us” have been
crashing into them. I was
everything. And then I met
you and we were everything.
Now you’re fucking some
blonde girl who gets
high all the time and
I’m a fucking
this is my favorite fucking poem ever ever ever
this is way better than pretty much everything we did in literature.