It’s the nights where I don’t sleep.

Not out of insomnia

(though sometimes it’s that too)

but because I don’t want to be

alone in my thoughts,

so I distract myself,

endlessly scrolling through feeds

or

endlessly playing the same songs over and over and over

in the hope that this time they’ll help

or

staring blankly at my laptop screen,

my eyes dull and aching.
It’s the aching of my chest

that starts off small

and grows until the whole of me

is engulfed,

until there’s nothing left of me

but the ache.

Not a physical pain,

though sometimes I think I’d prefer that,

it’d be easier if it were physical wouldn’t it?

Wouldn’t it?

Would it?
It’s the emptiness.

Emptiness of my head as I struggle to think,

emptiness of my heart because I’ve

been nothing but numb since this came creeping back,

emptiness of your stomach

because I haven’t eaten in three days

and I’m hoping this method might be clean

even if it isn’t quick.

(I do eat eventually,

hating myself for my weakness

and for filling myself with comfort.)
It’s hoping this is just a bad day

or a bad week,

that I’m just not eating enough

or drinking enough

or not getting enough sleep

– or too much –

anything other than calling it what it is

because I really don’t think

I will survive

another bout of this.

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