New thing in my car. Made from a piece of a 71 beetle
I woke up the other morning and realized I had no home. Just a house and an empty town I felt no connection with.
I am terrified of losing this battle, but I am also terrified of fighting it.
When I was twelve I started to let my skin cry as often as I was. I didn’t understand why I felt so heavy. No matter how much my weight fell I could have sworn beneath my skin was concrete. I checked often to see that I was not. I took up too much space in a room. I told myself I was fine even when I stood in the shower and stared at a red floor.
It’s been seven years and I still don’t fully understand what my body is made of, but I don’t check anymore either.
I need to learn to love myself in a way that nobody else will. I need to learn to be alone.
Your body is not a grave. You can not dig out your skeletons with a razor blade.