Love Me Broken, Too

I‘m a toxic person to love, everything I touch, dies or it grows. I can’t decide if I HEAL people and they break me or I’m just having another maniac episode. However you want to portray me in this story. None of it will matter. When you have OCD because of these mental learning abilities. Being in multiple accidents growing up, real psychical ones. you don’t even know what quiet or how it feels. You live inside your own mind so much because there’s so much bad in the world. You start to feel more suicidal than ever. I don’t think being 21 was really fun. I can buy weed. I can drink my gears and sorrows away. And yet it doesn’t fill the Good. When you get left with “weird men“ in your family. Growing up. You don’t get quiet epsiodes or quiet thoughts. Then you leave. Because oldest child on my moms and still middle child on my dads. I feel like I never belonged Anywhere.


I don’t know how to love myself and maybe that’s something I’ll always be aware of or maybe just something that will be the biggest ”flaw”. I used to physically hurt myself where the places the homes the neighborhoods. most broken ones. You don't get to have nice things. They don’t know or die. Sometimes it’s like it turns into aches or a memory. You don’t get to get anything you want. Because they robbed you out of your happiness before the abandonment and attachment problems come.


I fidget so much because inconstantly but so consistently biting at my nails. Then being stood or told I’m not good enough. I’m more words and expressions can ever explain. I understand why these famous people died now. It’s as if, if you’re a peace maker of being a minority, a great author. You have good things go for you, they rob you out of it. It’s a sick suicide pact. Everyones bonded as soulmates because we’re human. We can only have “8 senses.” There are times I go through maniac episodes and would post all day or none at all. I don’t like to feel like I’m wasting my life away. Constantly falling apart to care, to hear to feel, to touch to understand to comprehend to see “too much“ of the world in black and white that I HONESTLY. Because the world is just a fucked up. It’s a fucking fucked up black hole. And sometimes feeling like you’re already fucking drowning because you’re silenced. It’s so funny. I drowned so many times as a child but I took swimming lessons.


I think my memories are just memories. I don’t understand why there’s injustice in these songs, these stories. But there is. You never understand anything anyone is going through. I used to slit my wrists in bathtubs. Hoping I would drown. I took over 1000 purchased sleeping pills and being able to be an intern at the hospital. Being able to learn everything in multiple love languages. Being able to comprehend it still. I don’t want to bore or worry you. I’m in a safe haven again. I think maybe one day one day you’ll truly understand.


How much I loved you too. I love you so much that it’s driving me mad. I have random scars all over my body on purpose. Rape. Molested. I feel so disgusted with a a society that it became me. I feel like a monster in every single horror story people told about me. In reality. I love so fucking hard. I did and I catered to everything I lay my eyes on but I say things so negatively because I’m being. Someone who adores communication. I’m still confused with the lotus flower bomb. And why people get tattoos of it. I understand why some find it disrespectful. It’s your body. Just take care of it. And I wish all the advice and love traumas. Horrors and scars I’ve collected and ran off with was just memories.


But they're not. There’s so many fears I have leaving and entering. I’m too scared that if I ever loved anyone that deep that much. I’ll lose myself in losing them so I never touch anything that feels cancerous love drug. All I really wanted was someone to come home to. That’s all I wanted was to have a future with someone who didn’t make me feel like I was done lost my shit and everyone I ever loved or became so in love with. Yet again. Lost myself and maybe I’ll never understand the freedom writers Movie. I’ll never understand.


I think about everything in a mental Apple. That I have already installed. I depend on my mental incapabilities. I used to be left handed. It wasn’t “normal”. Now I’m right handed but I can use both. I wish I didn’t remember anything.

i wish I can forget. I wish I can forget you too. Say that I hate you.


just like everything else. It’s like that one song. Gibberish. I don’t know how to feel it because I never allow myself to be invested or interested or kept myself grounded enough. Not because I get bored going on a high speed chase but because think about what people say by listening to music or something. Some days I’d rather pick up all my emotional traumas and broken stories that I remember off the top of my head. Cut my hair do strange things. I just don’t want to be in one place for too long. It makes me feel so crazy but im self absorbment. It feels like I can’t ever tell the difference between what I want or who or why and how. I’m just me. I remember peoples faces and the good and bad memories. Every single one of them.


I remember faces and laughes the fucking smiles of people. What they wore, how they smell but just like everything else. I lose interest. For investing time thinking they’ll be good and change for me. You can’t change something once it’s broken. I need to fix myself. Figure out who I want to be again. Dye my hair. Leave. Never come back. Visit only. When you feel like once place two homes is hell. Your mind starts to feel and act on it too. If I didn’t care enough. There were motions waves like electrons and gravity. There was too much of my love that it was never enough for anyone else. Not b’cos Not good enough for someone love. i just never had it the way I wanted someone to love me. I spent the last 21 years burying people and watching them close caskets on the people I love. I have a list of everything. For everything I do. It wasn’t just me. It was the world. Every night I try to sleep earlier.


Insomiac. I wake up and I feel heavy. I get so confused if this is my new reality. My own hell. I don’t sleep. I wake up and feel heavy and not good enough. I feel germs seeking into my cars. its like the stray bullets have filled those goods like alcohol once did. And if they would have killed me then I would’ve died years ago. Just like my love for you. I wasn’t crazy. It was a love crazy and I fein for things I can’t have. Feelings are like window shopping for things you can’t afford but I can afford love. I am willing to do it again over and over. I laid out the cards, the dices. Pinpoint everything ever. And it wasn’t enough. But I am more than enough. Tragic.


This writing piece was not suppose to make sense or be literate. But if it was, congratulations, you made it this far. I wrote this piece when I was having an anxiety attack. This is what anxiety feels like. This is what goes on in my brain half the time.

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