Paperweight

You never loved me; you loved the sickness in me.

most of us needed a little something extra to be okay.

But wouldn’t you rather be real and flawed, then some synthetic perfect girl who never really lived?”

All of me stitched together and straining at the seams.

My body is both weapon and wound, predator and prey. I will self-destruct without any help.

‘The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off’

It makes me wonder what makes anybody family. I think that maybe for some people, family is just the people you’re standing next to when awful things happen.

it feels so tight and awful to be in my skin that I wish I could just stop breathing.

I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open, and going back willingly is better than putting up a fight. I have no more fight in me. Whatever was left has leaked out, through the cracks in the floor tiles, leaving nothing but the faintest ghost of a stain.

Yes, the illness took away. It clawed at family and time and the very beating of our hearts. But it gave, too. For me, it was the
only way I could move through life blurry, without having to see things as they really were. It would have been too much that way, having to stare at my life head-on. It just would have been too much.