withou

withou

This user account status is Approved

You strive to be better than the rest, to make a name for yourself. Or at least that's what she tells you. She wants you to think big and do great things. And of course you would want that--who doesn't? But it's all you've ever known, and you've never been told differently. Something about all this has started to sound familiar.

Her voice is clipped and brisk and wintry. You haven't seen her in a long time, but you can tell she's been doing better without you. You once had dreams of a future where you would be her prince. Maybe she never wanted that.

bars

You're sitting on your stairs, and you might as well be behind iron bars. Years of living in the same place, around the same people, haunted by the same demons. You're in a prison inside a box disguised as a home. Carefully crafted bars, standing tall and strong on each step. They always look pretty on the outside.

Insects, crawling over your skin. You can feel them, touching you, biting you, stinging you. They were better at surviving than you ever were.

salt

Salt and spray and love. The beach is calling your name, whispers left on rolling winds and crashing tides, messages in bottles and sand between your toes. You miss it so much, you could almost taste it.

(rain.) You think it'll protect you, but what are you kidding? (dance.) There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just water, right? (acid.) It's deadlier than it looks, and it's suffocating you. Drown. (and you faintly remember what you threw away so recklessly.)

You won't be missed. There will be many people who will come after you. They will be beautiful and loved, just like you were. They will let go of your memory as the years pass by, because they think that you'd want it that way. They knew nothing about you, and neither did you.

They wanted you to be what you couldn't. (And you think their opinions don't matter to you. It's a lie you tell yourself often.) They sold your soul for your success, but it's all you've ever wanted, because you've never been raised to think differently. (You were never supposed to fall or fail.)

Your life is meaningless. Every single person looks exactly the same. They do the same things, say the same things. You don't want to be a part of them, but you are, you are. (Wake up. Go to school or work or stay home unemployed. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.) You are wild and reckless and free. (You're also excellent at lying to yourself.)

An eye for an eye. He is cruel and selfish, but you are the only one that loves him, and he needs you. You are the light of his life, and he is your darkness. But he believes you are wrong, and you deserve to be hurt. Once upon a time, you believed in forgiveness.

load more entries

writing since 2011 · 25 entries · 24 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Theresa showed up.

14longest streak

24days written

4.1entries / week

on this day 15 years ago

Theresa wrote about level
“Voice level. Eyes blank. Emotionless as a stone. And that's all they know you as, even though all you want is to talk to them, to be with them, to make friends with those nameless, faceless strang…”

the words Theresa reaches for

handyourselfstepssittingskinbeautifulchesthandswrongtryingbettersunwakewhiteflyroots