us ones inbetween

I don't quite know why, but writing this makes me cry
and I'm hugging my knees, until my knuckles are white,
because I am so worried I might fall apart.
I'm going to hold myself together,
(all night, all day, all year, all eternity)
because nobody can quite do that for me right now,
and that's okay.
Because everyone is falling apart right now and I really really really need you to be the one to tell me that it’s going to be okay this time.
Because I keep having the same nightmare and every night it gets a little longer and a little closer to the end. Do you know that I get scared I’ll find out the end?
And my body is so done. Beyond exhausted, three and a half hour sleep nights are creeping up on me and my sore throat is never going to go away. My body refuses to nap and I can’t not exercise for one day because I swear I’m running on endorphins and caffeine.
I feel as though I will never be content: mentally, physically, emotionally, geographically.
I always want more and I’m not sure why; I’m not sure it can stop. I’m afraid if I stop I’ll realize how much that feeling will always be here. I was happy then I think, but it is that feeling that caused me to count minutes and dates and to analyze everything. That feeling of being alone even though I’m in a crowded room, the feeling that I am drowning in my own thoughts and anxiety. And it will fall on deaf ears and my friends will run out of the sympathy I am not even searching for.
The gypsy king and I talk about this concept known as life and we wonder if it’s worth it. If it’s worth it to wake up everyday and to keep breathing and to keep going. If it’s worth it to spend thousands of dollars for a disposable education that may or may not get us where we want to be in life. We wonder why the youth of America cannot be content with spending an evening in for once to read and learn; we wonder why the worst things in life always seem to happen to the best of people. He worries and worries and all I can say is that we are going to be one hundred percent because if I didn't I might start to believe we won't.
And I want to go back to September when I should have told you months before that I believe in you, that I love you, that I can help fix you, and if I can’t I will wait until you fix yourself.
I want to collapse into the arms of a stranger because they do not understand but they are the only one who ever could. I want to break down and I’m not sure how.

But i keep singing this:
And you get six months to adapt,
and you get two more to leave town.
and in the event that you do adapt, we still might not want you around.
But I fell for the promise of a life with a purpose,
but I know that that's impossible now.

i know this is strange for me. it will be okay.