They say what goes up must come back down. But what happens when you keep falling? Is there an up or do you eventually drown? You see these memories in my brain keep driving me towards insanity and my feet always fumble trying to reach for the brakes. All of the mistakes I’ve made don’t just go away. No amount of therapy seems to fix what I’ve broken. I don’t want sympathy, I just want to feel at peace with who I am and what I’ve done. I’ve been told progress not perfection. But I feel like a sickening cocktail of regression mixed with aggression and depression. Getting stuck in between cycles of self-obsession and slipping in out of conscious comas. What if I can’t fulfill society’s expectations of my life? What if I can’t fill you up? Because I feel like I can barely fill up the space that my body takes up in this atmosphere. I’ve been scratching, tearing, ripping away at the corners of my head, trying to make more room for the solutions to pain I’ll never be able to undo. Scratch out the gunshots, tear out the screaming, rip out the burned hearts. I can be an architect if you let me. I can fashion the most fragile of things just to watch the other parts of me be the demolition crew. I’ve fashioned this cross to bear all on my own. I’ve built this black box to keep the shadows locked away. It’s seated right next to my heart. But none of this means I don’t have love. I’ve felt it alongside all of this hate. If you believe in the bad then you must believe in the good. If you believe in hell then you must believe in some sort of heaven. My heaven is when everything written previously doesn’t cripple my love for myself or the ones who love me.