My heart hurts

Sometimes you’re a day old, coming home for the first time to a newly furnished home, smelling like fresh linens with a head as shiny as a cue ball. And you get accustomed to the sounds of smooches followed by daily “I love you’s” and “how was your day’s”. And you go to sleep peacefully our first night, with the sound of a door uneasily creaking closed. Sometimes you’re five years old, coming home from our first day of kindergarten, smelling of crayons and graham crackers with messy hair reaching shoulder length. And you hear daddy tell mommy that he hates her for the first time, and you hear your mother cry; also for the first time. And you go to bed scared at night, because mommy and daddy forgot to tuck you in. Sometimes you’re sixteen years old, smelling of a half eaten sandwich and stomach acid with stained hair put up effortlessly in a ponytail. And you come home early from school with a sick note because you told the nurse that the reason you threw up was because you ate bad cafeteria food. And you’re too caught up in the doctor’s advice to acknowledge the divorce paper sitting on the kitchen table. And you go to bed crying yourself to sleep because of your aching pelvis and heart. Sometimes you’re twenty years old, smelling of stress and cigarettes, with hair that sits in a bun. And you come home to a worn out mattress and a pile of laundry that can’t fold itself. And you can’t go to sleep tonight because the strange man that broke into your home is busy having his way with you. Sometimes you’re twenty-three years old, smelling of marijuana, with freshly cut hair. And you don’t come home that night because you’re too busy figuring out the meaning of life with the homeless man in the alleyway. And you go to sleep weary because “Mary Jane is your only friend.” Sometimes you’re thirty years old, reeking of liquor and an unwashed body with a newly shaved head, courtesy of the nice strangers in the white coats. And you come home to darkness because you forgot to pay the light bill, again. And you don’t remember going to sleep because the twenty pills and bottle of liquor you swallowed before laying down was your midnight snack. And you peacefully drifted into a black slumber because the blaring sirens of the ambulance and sounds of medical aides’ voices was your lullaby.

If any of you ever need someone, I’m here. Whether you’re sad, depressed, suicidal, happy, confused, a stranger, or anything, feel free to message me. I will always reply back ! :)

I really wish I wasn’t fat ☻