I will fight to the edge of the brink and back to protect you from the harshness that never stops whirling inside my head. I’m so frightened of losing this fight.

I’d much rather the harshness under my skin hurt me, instead, because I know exactly how it feels to stand there and take harshness that should not have been directed at me and I don’t want to do that to anyone else.

I don’t know if the harshness on the inside of my head is ever going to go away, not completely. I do my best to soften the blows whenever possible. I try to turn them inwards.

In the long run, I wonder if this might be a mistake.

I wish – not for harshness directed inwards as opposed to outwards, but for the perspective that allows me to call the harshness out on its bullshit when I’m tempted to believe in things that aren’t true.

When the harshness has something important to tell me, because part of me thinks it must be there for a reason – I wish for discernment, for the ability to hear to whatever it’s trying to say and then decide if I think it’s worth believing.

I don’t know if I can do anything at all to protect the versions of me that exist within the minds of other people from this harshness. Trusting that they’re safe is hard for me to do.

This is outside of my control, I think, and I think maybe I need to let that one go more often.

I walk alone over uneven ground, I drink water, I remember to make myself eat and sleep, I get my homework done, I listen to music, I read books, I write it out.