IT STARTED WITH SOME BLOOD

Part one: Epistaxis

The blood started pouring at a young age, yet it was attention seeking and rarely a troublesome issue, never a scarring wound happening before everyone’s eyes.

Somehow cleaning the mess became second nature, and hiding the proof turned into an olympic sport before being a fatigue.

Part two: touching the wall

With blood all around i reached a wall, but i started noticing that when you’re stained it is not a wall, just a possibility.

I saw regular light behind me, but it judged me. So I pushed my fingers beyond what I was allowed. Joy overflowed me, so I ignored the light.

Part three: addiction.

Joy had an expiration date and it took more than we agreed upon.

My fingers were no longer mine to guide, so I lost grip to reality and I started my fall.

Part four: too late.

The my head was overflowing with chaos. Feelings at war, with no winners in sight.

Thoughts of conquer and despair, of learning the difference between giving in and giving up.

Part five: jailbreaking my head.

The things about thoughts is they become obsessions, and when an obsession is strong it will try to take over.

It starts with the head, it jailbreaks from their space and invades your reality.

People start noticing the struggle, it can’t be hidden anymore. You’re in its hands.

Part six: putting Humpty Dumpty together again.

Push hands, break bones, run away, do what’s necessary to get some peace. It will be over eventually like a tv show, a battle, or a dream you feel you can’t wake up from.

In the sake of clarity.

Part seven: rest.

Rest in defeat after a victory, you’re compromised.

Part eight: compromise.

Attack after attack, you learn a pattern. Callous hands can’t cause pain. No one can help.

Build houses for your joy, create jails for your thoughts.

The system isn’t perfect, you’ve given up enough.

Give in the rest.

Part nine: standing up.

I took away the H from my yeahs.

I settled to maintain some control so I could stand up and look both ways.

Rabbit holes await me, I’m under someone’s thumb I can’t escape.

We turned into something beautifully grey and stained.

I’m incoherent, incohesive, I make no sense.