What do I do on nights like these?

What am I supposed to do when I get this scared, when the worry doesn’t bring me to panic but has pushed me passed normal anxiety?

What do I do when I’m exhausted and in desperate need of a hug but will flinch at-fight off-shrink from-react against-lash out at any human touch or interaction whatsoever?

What do I do when it gets this bad?

How can I calm myself down when I’m the one who’s already drowning?

It’s not a matter of smiling or frowning–

It’s trying and dying at the same time because you know there’s so much and yet you’re resigned to so little and patience….

Patience is a long way off, a distant shore and you don’t think you can take or make it but there’s this battered raft underneath you,

This small vessel called hope and it doesn’t look like much but it’s strong, dammit.

And you’ll ride it, you’ll hold on with all you have as waves of worded ink come crashing out of your pen and you resist the urge to split your skin because the answers, because what you’re looking for–

Just take another breath, and it’s there.

That breath–just breathe–

I know it hurts, I know it feels like hell-fire coursing through your veins as you fight off the false need to be swallowed by your pain

And you won’t beat it every time, you won’t always win but so long as you never fully give in–

You’ve got something in you no one else can take away, something that only you can share with the world–

So raise your fist your glass your pipe your smoke your voice your face your eyes your song–

Raise what is you, resurrect yourself by surrendering to the truth that you are








and let others lift you up, let them love you back to health,

and you may have to hold yourself a while–

you might have to rock back and forth and mutter a stream of truth to keep the lies away and to keep them at bay but it’s worth it.  you’re worth it.


because if I’m sitting here doing the same thing, writing this to you because i really need to say it to myself, then you’re not alone and I’m not alone and together,


we will weather this storm.  we will rise.



About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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