“I want to die”, I scream so many times.
Like death is some kind of “utopia”.
Like freedom.
Like belonging.
That is what it feels like.
But I also know I will never be ready for it.
Until maybe that moment when it’s actually happening.

But planning it is scary to me.
Knowing it’s going to happen.
I’m bad at letting go.
But this world has never been ok, right or safe.
And I know it’s not supposed to be.
I knew it from the start cause I didn’t come out of the womb.

I’m always ready to leave.
Yet, I’m never really ready.
I lie inside my grave with my eyes open and my hands digging in the soil.
Still not closing my eyes and letting go.
Until that won’t open wide enough for my body to give in.
Till it completely falls apart.
Then I’d have to let go.
My old jacket is finally torn and falling and I am reaching out to that girl.

That girl that already found her way towards another place.
And I change into my new form.
Like I’ve been changing into different forms.
In my way here in this life.
But then I can finally completely change without it taking everything from me.
Finally be exactly what I want to be.
Home.
Why am I so scared?
To let go. 🥲

It’s probably not supposed to be easy.
I’m not supposed to be able to leave whenever I want to or need to.
That would not fit with the journey.
And the experience.
Being in this world, it has rules to it.
I guess I just have to be really brave.