For a second, I felt a bottomless sadness. So completely alone. Like one of my stuffed animals at home that I was too old for now, that sat on the shelf in my closet, mashed against the back wall.
|—||Augusten Burroughs, Running with Scissors|
It’s okay to lock yourself in the medicine cabinet, to drink all the wine, to do what it takes to stay, without staying. It’s okay to hate God today, to change his name to yours, to want to ruin all that ruined you. It’s okay to feel like only a photograph of yourself, to need a stranger to pull your hair and pin you down. It’s okay to want your mother as you lie alone in bed. It’s okay to break, to fuck, to flame, to church, to crush, to knife, to rock, and rock, and rock, and rock, and rock, and rock. It’s okay to wave goodbye to yourself in the mirror. To write, ‘I don’t want anything.’ It’s okay to despise what you have inherited, to feel dead in a city of pulses.