life of haleigh

I’ve left a little piece of me to die with everyone I no longer know. It’s been the hardest feeling I’ve come to terms with in this lifetime, and probably the next. There are dead pieces of everything all around me. Pieces of myself that I miss, pieces of people I loved, pieces of memories I can still feel, pieces of hurt that I carry in my pockets. Every so often I visit the graveyards. I grieve my people and all of the places I’ve been with them. I mourn all of the bridges I burned because of the girl I used to be, the attitude I used to own, the emotions I used as a weapon. I visit and I hurt myself by imagining a world where all of these things were still alive. Here lies a girl I knew once: There’s this theory that with every decision you make, a part of you breaks off and continues in the other direction - creating an infinitely long line of different pathways in life. Many of mine lay here. A version of me who got that one job and left that place, a version of me who got married...

I have absolutely no idea who I am. Some days, I hear stories about me, aged 6, picking flowers to bring to mom while she does her makeup in the ensuite. Other days, I remember red-faced tantrums, screaming at the top of my lungs, ready to burst wide open into flames. I remember being bullied so, so badly. And I remember wondering how badly I messed up to deserve it. I remember talking badly about that girl, and feeling really guilty for doing it. Sometimes I am the girl who hosts parties, sometimes I am the girl who leaves them early. Sometimes I’m a good friend and other times I am poor, terrible, no-good friend. Sometimes I beg for people to love me, because I have so much good inside of me. Sometimes I wonder why anyone at all could love a monster like me. Sometimes I sit in my apartment and I can almost see myself, aged 11, walking in through the door and crawling into bed beside me. She hates her hair being touched, but loves her back tickled, and I listen to her tell me about ho...

I never would have done it myself. But in my head, I thought about if a city bus happened to slip into the intersection while I was crossing. Or what if my shellfish allergy found me behind a big plate of seafood? I didn’t google the side effects of mixing my meds with alcohol. Didn’t turn my music down in my headphones walking at night. I didn’t pull the blanket down from over my head when it felt like I couldn’t breathe under it. I used to tell myself that worst case scenario, I run out of money and lose all my friends, finally push my family away, and in that case, it’d be okay to die because there’s nothing left I’d want to live for. There was even a point where I couldn’t think about the next two hours without completely falling apart. I had to take things by minutes. Just get through the next minute. And the next. A few more minutes and I’ll be asleep, that’ll cover at least a few hours. I was so desperate just to fall asleep, because that would take the weight off of my focus on...

When I was little, my I would’ve told you my safe place was that spot behind the couch where I could build a world with all my Barbies. Or I might have said curled up on that same couch with my dad. Those places never lasted. I had to clean up, dad had projects to work on, nothing that felt comfortable could stay forever. We got a new house later in life. I wasn’t allowed to paint the walls. I couldn’t set plants on those shelves. Couldn’t light candles, you know, living in the basement things. I didn’t pick this mattress but it’s nice and it’s mine for now. Then I moved into a dorm at university. I had 3 roommates (I miss you, if you’re reading this). And I mean yeah, we spilled cider into the carpet and left hair dye in the shower but. It wasn’t ours. It definitely wasn’t mine. I moved twice a year for the next 4 years. And then hopped to a few different homes after that. Living in a suitcase. Went back home for a while, moved my bed around, which was nice. I sticky-tacked some pictu...