#i cant be blythe pilled all the time

[thedolsideblog]

time for school! who are you gonna spend your time with? 📝

[lochnessfriend]

the day of the first death is stark and stinks like something you wouldnt know

until you were told what it was

watching this secret fall over my - our pocket of melbourne was harsh

and then the toll rose: there was only ever one funeral but

the heart never left the mouth when you anticipated another

its been a year and a half i say; to anyone who can listen

i died here. and they died here. and we died here.

i point out the wounded ground from passing trams

blyth street - its 4pm. we are in a uber.

melbourne hosptial. every two weeks.

punt road - driving with no shoes & stoned in desperation

moonee ponds medical center where andrew used to take us for our blood tests & med uptakes

can you feel it?

of course you cant.

these were my deaths.

its been a year and a half - a house has been knocked down, my lovers are no longer my friends and everyone still remembers the funeral but it doesnt live over our heads in the same way

the only shadow it casts is the one we share.

the year passes:

what do you do when youve lost so much time to death?

for monhs i swallowed pills that i knew nothing about because i thought the words “ anti depressant” could do something

life in post crisis is hard to define when

i never got diagnosed, strapped to a iv drip or kept safe in a slightly to clean ward

i had no currency for time

but i felt it all the same

losing time : made me lost & isolated in rage and sorrow.

momentarily i drowned myself in anything that could taste better than the lonliness of trauma

i have texts, drawing and thoughts i never recalled making

i am no longer fluent in the language of crisis - or post crisis