knotsinmymind

[knotsinmymind]

Loving myself is not easy. It’s been learning how to forgive the ways I believe my body betrayed me. But I’m now realizing that it is actually the learning of how to forgive my myself, my mind for the ways I have betrayed my own body. Not the other way around. For hurting it, for criticizing it, for permanently damaging it, for wishing it was different or better or stronger or even prettier or sexier, or anything that my mind came up with in a negative way towards it. I am now on a journey I should have been on and stayed on long ago. And that journey is self love. True self love. Not the idea of it. Not the hope of it just instantly, magically happening with a few simple steps. Not the unrealistic process of it. Or how I’m told it works or what it is supposed to look like. Not the wanting of it and not continually putting in the actual effort and work towards it. It’s up to me and only me to figure out how to, and how to never stop. It’s self love in ways I will learn how to do every day. It’s finding strength within my own mind in order to allow the negative thoughts to subside, the cuts to heal, the scars to fade, the trauma to be worked through and find growth from, the lies and excuses to cease to exist, and so on. It is not easy loving myself. But I have myself and I have love. And I have to and will do everything I can to put those two together and create a healthier connection between my mind and my body. And that will be the beginning of a journey that belongs only to me. A journey of true self love.

- k.h.

[knotsinmymind]

I push people away Yet I still wonder why they never stay I’d rather chase liquor than a person I’d rather chase the feeling of not feeling anything than chase what inevitably causes this empty feeling And maybe that’s my problem Maybe I’m too busy creating more problems than to actually put in real effort to stop ‘em All I have are words repeating in my mind and a notebook to try to get them out in time And after I write, it all just comes back messier than the last It doesn’t end and rarely slows down It goes from my mind, to my chest, to a piece of paper and then to my wrists I bleed and bleed until the blood, tears, words and emotions all run dry I bleed and bleed until I am finally capable of shutting my eyes Turing off a light and putting down a pen is much harder to do when I am already in the dark and can’t find an ear to be lent Somehow I’ll get through the night just likes the ones before But I don’t remember how to ignore what is there so I run to what isn’t Hoping that whatever it is I find myself running towards will fix this, put a stop to the endless thoughts and pointless decisions

- k.h.

[knotsinmymind]

Sometimes the shitty taste of a shot of vodka is easier to swallow than the bitter taste of an empty day And the burning sensation on your wrist is easier to feel than the throbbing pain of the thoughts that fill your brain And the bullshit justification of your actions is easier to explain than the reasons why you’ve somehow created habits out of messes and why you’ve made a mess out of a habit

- k.h.

[knotsinmymind]

I wanted to write something down I wanted to keep my eyes open I wanted to make my mom proud I wanted to be next to you I wanted to to feel nothing I wanted to find something I wanted to forget everyone I wanted to drown out the thoughts I wanted to feel good without thinking about that I’m not

- k.h.

[knotsinmymind]

Forgive me Father for I have sinned; For my paint brush is a razor blade and the canvas is my skin Forgive me Father for I have sinned; For my Bible is a journal and my Holy Water is a bottle of gin Forgive me Father for I have sinned; For my Church is these streets and my prayer is crying over the sink as I try to breathe Please forgive me Father for I will always sin; For everything that’s in my head And for everything I cannot get off my chest

- k.h. (06/29/2016)

[knotsinmymind]

So I’ll hang on and try harder For one day I might have a daughter And I don’t want this cycle to repeat itself I want to be able to truly teach her how and why she needs to love herself Something that is taking me years to learn A type of hurt I’d never want for her to have to endure So it is up to me to continue working on myself To not give up - even when I failed To try my best to understand how important self love actually is and that I do in fact have some habits I need to kick For one day I might have a daughter And I never ever want for her to feel like she can not go further - or worse Feel like she can not go on for any longer, that her life has been nothing but mistakes and trauma For one day I might have a daughter So I must try harder For I am someone’s fucking daughter

-k.h.

[knotsinmymind]

I want it until I don’t Then I never want it again Until the pain eventually kicks back in My thoughts become like a crumpled up piece of paper that has made its way into the garbage with words on it That I recognize too well and much too often Changing the course of the night as quickly as the sun rises Then the life I have starts to seem haunted Haunted by a regret and a mess That I don’t remember how to clean up or lay to rest I spend my days looking for something that is already there Failing to acknowledge the truth that is found in despair The water isn’t feeling cold The bed isn’t feeling warm And this house isn’t feeling like much of a home Everything fades away and fades back in the same Everything is empty yet my chest feels too full Everything I know is right here in this room Looking back at me with disappointment saying I allowed it to get this bad and that I should feel this fucking sad I did it to myself I did it without thinking twice I still did it even with thinking twice So this is the price The price I got to pay For living this long staying the same And for thinking that writing it out could make it go away

- k.h. (09/06/2018)

[knotsinmymind]

There’s beauty in the struggle. There’s lessons in the tragedies. But I think it’s never exactly like we want to believe it is. It’s not like the movies. It is not “beautifully tragic”, it is not a bittersweet type of story that works itself in the end and then the credits roll. This is not the end of our day, it is only the beginning. There’s no one waiting around the corner who is just going to come along and save you and heal all your pain and tell you that you deserve the world because there’s no beauty in hurting yourself, there’s no beauty in just waiting for the love of your life to show up and make everything okay again. It is not someone else’s responsibility to fix your problems or help you love yourself, it’s yours. It’s not easy or simple, it’s not so black & white. It’s an ugly looking mess sometimes. It’s bloodstains on your shirtsleeves. It’s bruises and scars and throwing up. It’s endless days of anxiety and overthinking. It’s not sleeping and trying in any way you know how to just get from one day to the next. It’s drinking every day to kill time, to feel something good again for a few hours, to forget how much you hate yourself. It’s getting so fucked up that you don’t even realize that it actually only adds to your problems until it’s too late. It’s spending all of your money on things you think will help you but that never really do. It’s stealing, it’s lying. Lying to your mother, to your best friend, to yourself. It’s saying “I’m fine” so many times to other people that you almost start to believe it yourself. It’s staring at the ceiling all morning until you find any sort of strength to get out of your bed and let the day begin. It’s hearing someone you love laugh uncontrollably and wanting to cry because even that doesn’t make you feel better. It’s seeing everyone around you have a good time, without you It’s feeling sad on rainy days, it’s feeling even worse on sunny ones. It’s life passing you by and all you do is stare blankly ahead. It’s watching the days slowly turn into weeks, it’s not wanting to look at those weeks quickly turning into months. It’s wanting your father to get better but realizing that he may never will. It’s seeing your mother cry. It’s seeing your brother struggling. It’s wishing you were anyone but yourself. It’s wanting to leave and never come back but not having a place to go to or a person to be with. It’s having to be the one to help you get up off the bathroom floor, the one to clean you up, the one to comfort you, the one to talk you down, the one to wipe the tears, the one to fix the mess you’ve made once again. It’s trying to love and take care of yourself all the while constantly hating yourself and sabotaging your chances at real happiness. It’s being so fucking stupidly and carelessly self destructive. It’s not pretty or “aesthetically pleasing”, it’s not something to be proud of, and it’s never the exact same for everybody. But it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to feel unsure of your future. You are not weak or less of a person because of how deeply you feel things and for the ways you chose to deal with them. Your trauma is not your fault. But your healing will always be your responsibility.

- k.h. (05/26/2017)

[knotsinmymind]

I’m torn between addiction and sobriety Torn between what I know is better and what’s still inside of me Constantly thinking of what I should be doing with this pain and what this pain shouldn’t be doing to me It’s hard to believe how easy it can seem to fall back into routine How easy it can seem to just fix every problem that I have seen By numbing myself just enough so that I won’t think But it’s not easy at all It’s a lot of work trying to let go of what has always hurt I wish I could run away from the anger and what causes these dreams of terror But I’ve let it consume me I’ve let it try it’s best to ruin me

-k.h. (09/10/2019)

[knotsinmymind]

Looking at the person I love and it feeling like home even though for more than half of my life I had no real idea of what home was supposed to feel like is still a bit surreal

It feels strange and scary at times yet beautiful how being with someone can feel safe and happy and loving, and free of judgment and sadness. And full of laughter and comfort and good memories instead

I’m not yet sure how to make a decent poem out of that because truthfully any words that I can think of right now fall short of what it all completely feels like to me even two years later

Two years and four extremely different homes later, he is the only one that comes to mind when my mind can fathom the word ‘home’ and all that it means and all that it never did

He is not four walls and a roof

But if I could I’d paint these distorted four walls with as much of his love as I possibly could

So when it gets dark in this room once again and those white walls don’t look so white anymore

I would still be able to breathe

I would still feel safe

-k.h.