by epi

it’s so quiet.

&my heart isn’t pounding in my chest.

&i’ve let my phone die even though i’m alone even though no one is here and i’m alone

&i’m ignoring the pressing desire to self-destruct

&the desire isn’t as pressing as it used to be

&it’s going to be hard. very very very hard.

but not impossible.

which means the damage i’ve done isn’t irreparable

&it might not all have been damaged

&every once in a while, terror still takes my breath away

&every once in a while, i still slip


(okay, i need to give some background, before i make the next statement. a while ago, jack and coke… do you remember him? asked me if he was the one i’d written about. it took me forever to answer him. i didn’t want to lie & I didn’t want to tell the truth. I can see now how truth isn’t always the best answer. How sometimes it isn’t an answer at all.

In the end, I told him the closest to the truth I could get. Yes, but–we’re not the same people we were. [None of us are who we were. that’s good. We’re supposed to change. Not changing, that stagnation, is going backwards. I fought change for years. That’s years of backtracking. Sometimes I panic when I think of how much backwards I went.]

he apologized then. I rejected his apology. “Don’t worry about it kiddo,” I said, “It’s not like I’m breakable.” i didn’t know i was lying then. He rejected my rejection as softly as he could. he told me that even if I can’t break, I scratch.)

I’m scratched. (i thought i was broken, but i might just be scratched. scratches, as long as you keep dirt away from them, heal eventually.