poetry · scribbles

Take Me to Sleep

You live with your heart,
Your brain is a fucked up place.
You think too much.
Don’t do this
Don’t do that.
Maybe just try living.
You expect too much.
You’re enough.
You don’t have to achieve in order to be worthy.
You think too much.
You do too much.
You laze around a lot.
You are not fucked up.
You create fuck ups.
You don’t have to do this.
You’re not supposed to do that.
Just breathe
Just live
Just smile
Just laugh.
Don’t stress.
Don’t cry.
It’s okay to cry if you get fine
Don’t cry, my child.
You’re loved.
Why do you make the people around you prove that they love you?
You love too much.
Don’t do that. People will break you.
They suck your energy. You let me get away. Don’t do that.
You think too much.
You’re special.
Dream big.
Life isn’t a dream.
Reality sucks. It doesn’t operate like those in books and movies.
You dream too much.
Dream but dream as per practical standards of dreaming.
You think too much.
Live life as it comes.
Don’t stress.
Don’t cry.
Don’t fight.
Just exist.
Just be.
Just smile.
Just love.
Just live.
*STOP*

I am dying. I die every time I know I have fucked up but can’t make it right.
I die every time I cannot do things they are supposed to be done.
I die every time I don’t rise up to the expectations of the people around me.
I die every time my loved ones are disappointed in me.
I die every time I fail.
I die every time someone leaves.
I die every time I love the wrong person and take ages to move on.
I die every time I do not achieve my target and fulfill the needs of my people.
I die every time someone feels bad because of me.
I die every time I have anxiety. I die every time my brain becomes my own enemy. I die every time my heart and head fight to the point where my body gives up.
I die every day. I die every time. 

Your pieces of advice and words and care are all correct and provide reassurance but years of being an achievement addict, an addict to seeking approval in order to feel worthy, an addict to make things right even when everything is crumbling, an addict to the idea of not needing anyone and just being there for the people sometimes makes me cry and my head hurts and I die with pain and in pain wishing for death Everytime I cannot say I am fine or I will be fine.
Take me to sleep. I don’t want to wake up.
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