i know what it’s like

I do not know what doing well looks like, to put it lightly. but I do know what my room looks like after 3 weeks of not picking up my clothes from the floor. i know what it’s like to eat to fill the void inside. i know what it’s like to run. I know what it’s like to not remember to stop. i know what it’s like to be torn apart and put back together in the wrong places. i know they call that healing but i call it bullshit. I know what it looks like to be pretty on the outside and rot on the inside. I know what it’s like to have my heart rate at 176 beats per minute. I know what it’s like to hear my mom crying asking me to wake up. I know what it’s like to have doctors tell you you’re dying. I know what it’s like to have knives in your back dug deeper into the core of your spine. I know what it’s like to pick the clothes up from the floor and forget they’re in your hands. I know what it’s like to stare in the mirror for endless hours. I know what it’s like to dissect your own very existence trying to figure out what exactly could be wrong. i know what it’s like to hit your head against the wall way too many times. i know what the highs are like, i know the lows are always so much worst. i know what it’s like to blast music to change the perspective. i know what its like to keep reading wishing wishes to empty skies. i know what all of its like. I know what it’s like to smile with dead eyes. I know what it’s like to always lie. I know what it’s like to make excuses and crumble inside. I know what it’s like to be dead inside. I was born dead inside.