Another Friday

The more I think about how awful my mood is (and how nothing seems to work to improve it), the worse it gets. It feels like there’s something stuck inside of my chest that’s trying to claw (scratch, push) its way out of me, making it difficult to breathe.

It hurts.

I hate that, next to everything else, I also feel like I have no idea who the fuck I am and that most of the time I cannot recognise my own reflection or even feel like I’m real. The pain, the bad, awful thoughts, the haunting demons following me around are there, are real, yes, but what about me? It’s like I’m not in this body; I’m here, but at the same time I’m not. I’m trapped somewhere else and can’t get out.

About thetasteofwrittenwords

Ema. Twenty-something. Panromantic asexual. University student, artist and writer. Proud feminist. View all posts by thetasteofwrittenwords

You must be logged in to post a comment.

%d bloggers like this: