someone come and save my life
i think i've only been drawing so much lately to keep myself from cutting. the repetitive motion keeps my hands busy and my mind busy enough to not be focusing so intensely on the desire to inflict bodily pain on myself. i can breathe a little easier with pen pressed tightly to paper, when i'm filling my art journal with sketches of the distorted things in my head. this is what i do during the hours that i am alone and sleepless, which are uncountable lately. i've just stopped sleeping altogether essentially, except in short nap-like bursts.
this has been happening to me four to five times a year since i was about ten or eleven. since i started feeling really fucked up, really destroyed by the world. i'm concrete, i'm steel, but this world we live in is the acid that gradually breaks down all the solid molecules of me. the more i know, the faster the process of decay.
i dream about gouging my own eyes out to blind myself to all the horrifying things, but i also fear losing my sight more than anything. my ability to see things is all i have, but it destroys me.
Oh, how I'm breaking down