#( uhm. i don't know if church knows abt her depression ?

[overdove-a-blog]

“ when was the last time you left the house ? or opened the curtains for that matter. ” surprise visits after she moved away though

the emerged world is terrifying. wide open, like being naked in a hailstorm — it’s a different kind of drowning, but it’s not as loving as the other kind. she really thought she could make it, for a split second: seemed like she’d learned to swim, or maybe just flail around enough to float & not sink. but it still hits her, that old familiar monster with blue eyes & a bluer soul, the kind that she can’t cure with pills & prescriptions ( prefers booze & self-harming demeanor, it’s cheaper & has less side effects, if you don’t count the self-loathing & hangovers ). she can’t escape it — doesn’t matter if she’s in portland, in montauk, narnia or wonderland. it’ll always know her name, & know how to kick her when she’s down: & she’s down right now, hidden beneath too many blankets — hasn’t even moved from the couch in the past 24 hours. she doesn’t blame church — she supposes a healthier part of her would be concerned about him too, but she can’t think properly right now, can’t consider herself anything more than a vague shape, a leak spread across the floorboards of a house she’s bought with an emotional investment much greater than the financial one, but it couldn’t heal her — the monster is sewn into her, & not even church’s scolding gaze ( it’s so surreal from him, so odd, it doesn’t belong there — or does it ? she can’t remember ) can scroll it off of her. “ leave me alone, church ” it’s faint, & she suspects she doesn’t really mean it — he’s good company, even if she’s not used to being the one being worried about. it’s faint, like the ragged breath of a dying body: she’s not dying, though, she’s just lifeless. “ you can’t really judge me. ” comes the casual, barely whispered comment: it’s mean, & she only vaguely knows this. can’t quite make out the shape of their interaction, right now — all she seems to care is the anesthetic rainbow of pictures on the tv, & she has no idea what they’re saying but they soothe her. there’s something beautiful in the way her guitar & church are alike right now — reasons for joy on good days, absolutely useless when the monster comes. washed out grey eyes are barely able to focus their gaze on him, pleading & pulled down like a dog’s — like an animal. “please. leave me alone. ”

@devotedecay​ / every 10 yrs someone worries abt mo & i cry / sel. accepting !