sleazyyyy
Warmer when the kitsch of rot hits the stomach
- May 10, 2026
- 18
I've written here before about being so sure I was going to kill myself. Not in a dramatic way either. It was more like a quiet certainty that sat in the background of everything. I already had the means for it. It was within reach. And after a while, that thought stopped feeling shocking and just became something I carried around with me every day.
But recently, when the sting from my self-harm wounds started fading a little, I stepped outside for air. It sounds small, but it honestly felt difficult. Like I was forcing myself back into the world after hiding inside my own head for too long.
I live in the province where almost everybody knows each other, and somehow everyone is related to everyone too. It's funny because despite growing up surrounded by people, pain still managed to convince me I was completely alone. Well, they don't really care about me because they're busy with their own lives but I got so trapped in my own heartbreak and hopelessness that I forgot there was still an entire world existing outside of me.
I remember standing there and realizing how huge everything actually is. There was this massive sky in front of me, places I've never seen, roads waiting for my footsteps, oceans I haven't touched. Stars that are thousands of years old still giving off light even after all this time. The sun continuing to rise whether I'm here to see it or not. Billions of people all living at the same time as me, carrying their own problems, their own grief, their own private sadness.
And weirdly, instead of making me feel smaller, it made me feel less alone.
I thought about my father too. About how after my heartbreak he told me I was still young, like life wasn't over yet even though it felt like it was. About how he's willing to carry financial stress just to make sure I'm okay, to not handle the burden of working yet. About how he's never forced me to "move on" in the way people usually do, but instead gave me space to figure things out on my own terms. I don't think I appreciated that enough before.
That moment made me realize that being human is kind of tragic, but also strangely beautiful. We all carry pain. We all feel lonely sometimes. I think loneliness is almost built into us. But at the same time, we're made to survive things. Our bodies fight to stay alive even when our minds are exhausted. There's something deeply stubborn about being human.
And I don't mean that in a way that dismisses people who chose to die. Honestly, I think it's the opposite. Living while carrying unbearable pain is incredibly hard. Some people are just tired. I understand that now more than ever.
But I also think memories keep us alive in ways we don't notice. Tiny moments of happiness, even old ones, still leave traces behind. Enough to remind us that life hasn't always hurt like this, and maybe won't hurt like this forever.
Lately I've been thinking of myself as a wildflower. Not in a soft romantic way, but in the sense that wildflowers grow wherever they can. On sidewalks, cracked pavement, abandoned places. Nobody teaches them how to survive there. They just do. They soak up rain and sunlight when they can, survive storms when they can't, and continue existing without needing permission from anyone.
I like that idea a lot.
Maybe people are like that too. Maybe we spend our whole lives bending with pain, surviving impossible seasons, nearly dying sometimes, and still finding ourselves reaching toward light anyway.
But recently, when the sting from my self-harm wounds started fading a little, I stepped outside for air. It sounds small, but it honestly felt difficult. Like I was forcing myself back into the world after hiding inside my own head for too long.
I live in the province where almost everybody knows each other, and somehow everyone is related to everyone too. It's funny because despite growing up surrounded by people, pain still managed to convince me I was completely alone. Well, they don't really care about me because they're busy with their own lives but I got so trapped in my own heartbreak and hopelessness that I forgot there was still an entire world existing outside of me.
I remember standing there and realizing how huge everything actually is. There was this massive sky in front of me, places I've never seen, roads waiting for my footsteps, oceans I haven't touched. Stars that are thousands of years old still giving off light even after all this time. The sun continuing to rise whether I'm here to see it or not. Billions of people all living at the same time as me, carrying their own problems, their own grief, their own private sadness.
And weirdly, instead of making me feel smaller, it made me feel less alone.
I thought about my father too. About how after my heartbreak he told me I was still young, like life wasn't over yet even though it felt like it was. About how he's willing to carry financial stress just to make sure I'm okay, to not handle the burden of working yet. About how he's never forced me to "move on" in the way people usually do, but instead gave me space to figure things out on my own terms. I don't think I appreciated that enough before.
That moment made me realize that being human is kind of tragic, but also strangely beautiful. We all carry pain. We all feel lonely sometimes. I think loneliness is almost built into us. But at the same time, we're made to survive things. Our bodies fight to stay alive even when our minds are exhausted. There's something deeply stubborn about being human.
And I don't mean that in a way that dismisses people who chose to die. Honestly, I think it's the opposite. Living while carrying unbearable pain is incredibly hard. Some people are just tired. I understand that now more than ever.
But I also think memories keep us alive in ways we don't notice. Tiny moments of happiness, even old ones, still leave traces behind. Enough to remind us that life hasn't always hurt like this, and maybe won't hurt like this forever.
Lately I've been thinking of myself as a wildflower. Not in a soft romantic way, but in the sense that wildflowers grow wherever they can. On sidewalks, cracked pavement, abandoned places. Nobody teaches them how to survive there. They just do. They soak up rain and sunlight when they can, survive storms when they can't, and continue existing without needing permission from anyone.
I like that idea a lot.
Maybe people are like that too. Maybe we spend our whole lives bending with pain, surviving impossible seasons, nearly dying sometimes, and still finding ourselves reaching toward light anyway.
