Focus.

It was all about perspective.

That was what she convinced herself at least. She wasn't sick if she didn't allow herself to be. Focus outwards, fix other people - and the good that came from that would flow back to her in a rush of self-medicating bliss.

But she slipped occasionally. Became mired down in how she felt, at first to try and fix herself. She would pick apart her brain until she had an answer to why she was that way, but she only became more tangled in the problems, until she resolved to give up on the task.

Focusing inward seemed selfish. A waste of time. Nothing was wrong if she didn't give in to it. Feelings were chemical and could easily be changed given enough determination. Actions were the things she needed to keep control over. So long as she maintained who she had painted herself up to be - she was fine.

Fine. She could be fine if she tried hard. And every so often she would bounce back up, have a really great day. Be happy over small things, be organised, go to sleep excited.

But perhaps she should have focused on herself...

Falling Apart (Part 2)

He works a needle through my skin -
and threads me back together.

Sand pours back into my bones,
grain by grain.
until I remember how to sew a smile.

But my material is stretched and cheap...
and i can't help falling apart around him.

Falling Apart (Part 1)

i am trapped in a bath that's gone cold.

Unwilling to get out,
knowing that i should.
Splashing in sadness i wallow like a creature
that must live here.

Water creeps into my ears until
my mind is treading memories.
It wants to unpick my soggy stitches,
until my material freys and tears apart
and sand leaks out of me until i fall flat.

i want to be alone and unloved and undone.