Don't Eat the Daisies

When I was a kid, probably nine or ten, I told my extended family that I was done hugging them. They were so fucking annoying with their hugging any time anyone farted (this was the example I gave as to why I was through), and I was not okay with that. My aunts and uncles were, of course, offended, and my grandma hugged me anyway, but it was something that was important to me to stop. Why would I hug people so many times like that? Why would I use touch as some weird gesture that meant nothing to me or them? Fast forward to now, and for the most part those aunts and uncles still don't hug me. My grandmother is long dead, so those have stopped, too. I'm still stingy with my hugs but these days it's due to shitty self esteem and a strong sense of self doubt. This, ladies and gentlemen, is adulthood, and one of the many reasons I stay up late eating cheesecake alone in front of the t.v. at night. It might also be the reason for the teardrops on my guitar, but I can't rem

Yesterday I went to a celebration of life for a co-worker, Nadja May. I only knew her for just shy of two years, but she made a big impact on my life with her boisterous laugh, positivity, and overall sense of comfort, grace, and well-being. Nadja was one of the very few people who could read me. I'm good at hiding my emotions because of my natural poker face, and Nadja always saw through that. Nadja was the one who rescued me when I was an emotional wreck after the incident with my boss, and she had no idea that she had done so. I never thanked her for that. I also didn't extend the same courtesy to her. About a week and a half before Nadja died I saw her walking through the hallway and past my door. She looked disheveled, something that Nadja never was, she was always polished and gorgeous and perfect, but this time she looked off. She had a smile on her face, but it was vacant. And I thought to myself that I should stop her and check in. And I didn't. I feel terrible for

The past few weeks have been mentally difficult. I am so unhappy right now. I can't even begin to describe the number of times I've thought about self harming; I pulled my hair so hard yesterday that it nearly came out. I only stopped out of pure vanity. After that happened I drug a wire hanger across the veins of my left wrist, but couldn't bring myself to actually do damage. The pain I could inflict upon myself sounds lovely and it would be the perfect escape from the pain I have in my head and heart right now. I know why I am hurting. I know why I feel despair and rage and sadness and agitation and a lack of fulfillment. But I can't tell anyone.