Strings of hope

I've decided I should stop pretending that I'm fine. Cause I'm not. My make-up is peeling, my mask is wearing off. Yet I have not turned to any means of self harm other than alcohol and cigarettes, but it's just a matter of time before I fall back to cutting again as autumn comes closer and hiding wounds under clothes will be easy. I know that I'm strong, I know that I hold up, but it's taking up more and more space in my mind. The sadness, the sorrow, the lovesickness, the scars are bleeding once again. But I'm still trying to hold on to what keeps me alive. To art, to K, to my best friends (all three) and to my writing. And that is all but it just has to be enough.

Yet I don't want to resort to suicide, I'm not that far gone yet. But I will be. Sooner or later I'll end up in a hospital again or smashed to pieces on asphalt ground, I don't know. I just hope I'll be able to finish my novel before then. I hold on to it, clutch at it, as if it was my last string of hope to live a decent life. It is my last string of hope to live a decent life.

I've had too many bad days again, these last few weeks or so. Too much bottling up that I for some stupid reason can't let out. It's like it's stuck inside of me and it feels like it's gonna suffocate and kill me. So there you have it, how I actually feel and it has only shown in my poems before. I only post them on tumblr these days, but here's one:

"Hold my heart
my life is getting shorter
hold my breath as I sink
in under the water

These little strings of hope
too fragile to hold
Clutching at false belief
shivering in the cold

Hold my hands
they're cold as death
and hold my hopes up
I'm out of breath

Running faster
they're catching up
how will I ever
make it stop

Hold my pride
it's withering away
hold my defences
and tell me to stay"

~ a poem by me, called "Hold my breath" ~