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but just for tonight, hold on

my medication drawer is mostly filled with blades, bandaids, whiskey and a shitload of sour sweets and biscuits. (there’s a tiny corner where my actual real medicational things are stashed.)

it makes me feel… well, not exactly SAFE because I don’t feel safe at
all anymore, but a little less insecure at least.

today I have not needed any of those. it makes me happy but it also scares me because I fear the downfall; I don’t do well when it comes to tripping over my own dancing feet and so the fall from grace is always horribly graceless.

but maybe having supplies for emergency feelings is security in a way; I know I have enough insulin to kill myself a hundred times and I heard it’s a pretty nice way to die, as far as nice ways to die go, but to know that makes it a little safer to venture out and try on another day. if it sucks, if you run out of all hope and energy and everything, then that pile of insulin will be there to take off the heavy burden.

and what I loved very much yesterday was how my instructor kept using “we” when she talked to me about the hospital; “WE can go there if I feel bad”.
I wanted to go back in May but I needed someone to escort me and no one gave a fuck and so I stayed home and fucked everything up completely, which funnily enough has led to this current desperate lonely hopelessness feeling amplified by a thousandfold (I would still be somewhat suicidal even if things were well with people, but this situation tears me to pieces and punches me in the heart all the time and it hurts so terribly I just want it to stop, any way necessary I want to stop it from hurting so very badly), so to have someone take it for granted that she’ll come with me, just to take me there, get me emergency help, get me safety. just to keep me alive so I can come back and pester her with more of my useless tears and incoherent sadness.
she’d come with me just to keep me alive, just to fucking keep me alive.

it meant the world to me and she didn’t even notice she’d said anything special.

I can’t imagine a better source of strength and courage than a firm squeeze of a hand holding yours, to say “you are not alone in this.”
like, “I will do everything I possibly can to light up your dark tunnel. you are NOT alone. keep holding my hand until illumination shows up. grip it hard if you’re scared, squeeze it tight if you’re sad. just keep holding on and I will do the same.”
(I guess, to be honest, that this is my phobia of rejection and abandonment speaking; to have a hand hold and not let go, not fucking let go no matter what, is like my heart’s deepest desire.)

"I can’t carry it for you
but I can carry you.”

and I will hold you closer
hope your heart is strong enough
when the night is coming down on you
we will find a way
through the dark

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