feels good to be alive

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Have some sense of agency at least over one small aspect of my life,
But then I ate an ice cream and the end of the cone had more chocolate
Than I usually get,
So
I felt overjoyed!
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
I’ve had it with all these 23 springs and summers and autumns and winters
And springs and winters and summers and autumns
And winters and autumns and summers and springs
Of mental illness.
But then I went outside, rode my penny board
And the smell of the linden trees after a May shower
Enveloped me in a hug.
(Heavens know how touch starved I am.)
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Pull the plug on this miserable existence,
But then I rode my bike on empty neighbourhood streets,
Saw the stormy clouds get a tint of peachy cotton candy sunlight
As the sun retreated in the face of impending doom.
Silver lining for a solid 150 seconds.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Silence the impostor claiming my bones,
Cut the strings pulling me every which way,
One day up for show, faking a smile,
The next hidden away in the dreadful box
Of self-consciousness, anxiety and it which shall not be named
(The skeleton in my closet).
But then I went to the park,
Sat on a wooden bench, feet drowning in concrete,
And looked to the sky,
Heard the vivacious trills of nightingales,
And the occasional crow cawing,
Interspersed with an ever so vibrant “cuck-oo”.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
But there’s still
The small things in life.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

– Patricia

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3 a.m.

Here we go again,
Here we go.
3 a.m. Lying in my freshly changed sheets,
Just as I thought I was done staining them.
Here we go,
I don’t even know why anymore.

How is it that I was
Self-conscious
Before I was even
Self-aware?
But I guess that’s how I am: backwards everything doing;
Changing the sheets to stain them,
Knowing the passing fully fledged shadows on the sidewalk
Before acknowledging my aching silhouette lying there in a fetal position,
Yet to be born.

Here we go again,
I’ve stopped asking questions quite a while ago,
When the tears first stained my pillowcase.
Just roll with it,
It’s not like anything is going to change.
Except for the sheets.

And, while crying away
The known, the unknown,
The times I’ve felt like a stranger in my own body,
The times I’ve wanted to read the map of my soul and realised my eyes and fingertips were blind,
The times I’ve longed for everlasting togetherness to the point where I felt my ribs crushing my sore heart,
The times I’ve wished for my existential dread to turn into jumping in puddles on a serendipitous rainy day,
The little voice in my head notices:

Why are tears salty?

and everything goes quiet

– Patricia