Mar 14

I can't explain what it's about
I'm scared to death irrationally
But reason will not rescue me
There's no fighting this anxiety
I just need to wait it out

#anxiety   #attack   #relapse   #slip  
Leia R
Leia R
Mar 7

i'm doing my best but my best isn't good enough
i guess i just never thought that life could be so rough
i think i might be on the brink of relapse
but i don't want to be; i left that life in my past
so what am i going to do if i don't get better?
the sad girl is trying to get out but i'm trying not to let her


I try to be stronger now.
But I killed my strongest self, several attempts ago
I push it away,
but darkness always returns;
I am reverted to the worst version of myself.

She is 16 and sobbing out her sorrows in her bathtub,
to her favorite razor and a bottle full of pills.
She is self-destructing but, she can't say why.
Someone else's words have cut out her tongue.
Her mouth bleeds out their words against her,
trying to save herself she locks her jaw into a smile, that lies to everyone around her that she's fine.
But, her body fills with their hatred and she learns to loathe herself
Slowly, her heart is smothered and her mind breaks.
She becomes so full that she burst at the wrist, just to get some relief.

I return to the present,
I've made a mistake.
I am too weak again to this world.
I look at myself in the mirror.
I watch the blood on the counter make small pools from my wrists.
And I give into it.
I will never fully be myself again.
I have killed myself too many times,
Sometimes I wish my body wasn't too stubborn to die.

Jan 24

I didn’t think it would happen again
it slithered out of its hiding place
back into the curvature of my palm
and with it came the bloody calm

I didn’t expect myself to return
to the fetal position of decay
my soul was improving so well
for such a quick descent into hell

I didn’t know my thoughts continued
to darken my veins from blue to red
since I sought a cleaning crew to
mop up the shame thoroughly through

I didn’t want to have to hide again
to wrap and nurse and lie
this time is different, this time I take leisure
i deserve the slow, deliberate fissures

avid beau
avid beau
Jan 21

12:24PM, January 21, 2017. Saturday.
This feeling is like the sweat beads
Dripping down my back
On a sweltering afternoon.
I lay here in remorse,
Feeling and experiencing
Like life awakening from a coma
You were never aware you fell into.

Speaking of falling, have I mentioned that I am?
Questioning the permanency of a foolproof plan
And no one knows who or what
I'm talking about
Not a single thought in their minds
As to what the gears
Behind my eyes are creating.

A concept of solipsism,
The revolution of somnambulism;
It's why we all want to take
A psychology class but confuse
It with philosophy and end up taking both anyway.

I feel like the cotton candy at a carnival,
So many pick and choose the pink or blue
The black and blue on my ankles and chest
Hands gripped around my neck;
Sorting through what particular part of me
Makes it worth sticking through.

They want to taste what it's like
To break me down
But the second I hit the tongue,
I dissolve. I melt away,
And they are satiated,
Left forgetting me and the craving urge forevermore.

When the pen seeps through the paper
I expect to be reminded of how
Every little tear fucking burns my eyes.
They say it's because of dehydration,
The less water you drink the more salty
Your tears become.
But you'd figure after so long,
Your body would become used to the pain.
Then again, that could apply to
Most of the pain this fragmented coffin of a figure
Endures pathetically.

Am I pitiful?
Because even after years
Fighting, struggling, suffering,
Working to better myself any chance I get,
I still feel selfish for crying out.
I've lost too many people
And sometimes I wonder how
Someone so strong could become
So fragile, withered,
Wracked with debilitating illness
That they can barely stifle a single breath.

Sometimes I wonder how in a matter
Of a month, someone could go from
Talking, though strained, walking, though barely,
To completely immobile, paper-thin, codependent
Then ripped away at the seams
From those who are still now learning
Just what exactly death is.

And here you are, standing over their corpse,
Crying in silence so no one detects
The vulnerability seeping out of your pores.
Your hand is stroking their hair again,
But they're cold, stiff, devoid of any sense of future.
No light, no twitch, no remnants of the soul
You'd connected with, the one you'd spoken to
Just the day before.
They don't open their eyes then,
And the more you stare at their chest,
Thinking every couple of seconds that
You swore you saw it rise just that little bit.
You soon enough come to the abrupt realization
That there is such a thing as a permanent marker
Because I'm forever stained with the memory they've
Abandoned me with.
And I don't blame them for leaving,
I don't blame the one who took them.
The time comes and it's inevitable,
And with that notion comes the irrationality
Of being afraid of the one thing we know for certain
Will always happen to each and every one of us.
Not a doubt. No cheating death.

And so begins the process
Of desperately clinging onto the memory
Of someone you never got the chance
To properly meet in the first place.

They tell me they're better off
But not a single damn one of them looks at peace.
Not a single one looks asleep,
And not a single person can fit the lie
Into my head that they went peacefully.
That they never suffered.
That they weren't terrified
Of the door being closed on them.
That they weren't afraid to die.

I know the story, I knew the hope.
I knew the fight.
And they say it's "always darkest just before the dawn",
But I've been walking through this tunnel
So long now that I have familiarized myself
With every single damn crack in the stone,
Every patch of moss,
Fathomed obsessions over every fiber;
Unable to see the stars
While everyone else is at the planetarium.

I've been traveling for so long,
Believing this fact of hope and drive,
That I'm now starting to recognize
That this, this right here, is all a glitch.
This tunnel has no end.
And as a matter of fact, I have yet
To see any flicker of light at the farthest point
To which my eyes can see.
The only small, hopeful, good days experienced
Feel like thousand-year-old stories carved into the cave walls,
Or a smidgen of a hole in the ceiling.
And it hurts.

My feet burn from walking.
Even in my sleep, my soles meet
The cold stone floors, strolling, wandering,
Unable to stop.

I hear the trickling of water now,
Like a small babbling stream
Abandoned in this cave.
Just like me.
But now, sometimes I fear the rush.
Because I know, soon enough,
The water will overflow again,
And I will drown
Because nobody had the time or devotion,
To teach me how to swim.

I feel like I've lived a thousand years onwards.
Occasionally, I lay back and close my eyes,
Feel the chill of the stone wrap itself over my body
As my body temperature drops gradually
Just to listen to the stream lull me.
I'm still trying to figure out if it's because
The stream often symbolizes the foreshadowing
of the Undertaker, and I am accepting defeat;
Or if this is simply the only way that I can
not only drown not just my thoughts,
But myself.

So, I keep falling, in more ways than one
In search of that permanency,
Or at least substitution.
I crave people, because
This cave is so lonely,
And autophobia eats me alive
As people drop like flies.
So, I guess selfishness isn't a lie, after all.

Couple years past, still in a ditch.
Like this is some section to uplift,
More like a fork in the road
Or an alternate ending
When the main character isn't defeated.
But somehow, over time,
I've obtained the process of how
Moss is a life form, perhaps parasitic,
But thriving in the smallest
And most desolate crevices.

So, I've formulated a plan on how
To make rope out of this fiber.
And if this ladder fails me now,
I will come crashing back down
And break my spine.
Hopefully, if it ever were to heal,
Maybe I'll be able to conjure up
The strength of a better backbone
Because these demons glow in the dark,
And I've gotta gather up the guts
To turn on the lights once and for all.

- C.B.C.
Cecil Beau Calcifer

wow this is long, i cried while writing this in my journal cool. sorry, a lot of emotion here in this one. friggin intense
Jan 18

I took a bite
from the forbidden apple,
and it turned to ash
upon my tongue.

I counted the number of times
you weren't there for me
in tally marks on my wrist.

#cutting   #hate   #not   #scars   #there   #relapse   #tally   #marks  
Dec 29, 2016

I can't tell why
I'm crying

Where are my tears coming from?
Are they coaxed out by the fingers down my throat, coming up with the acids in my stomach?
Or are they because of the pain leading me to do this to myself?

Blurring things together,
Making my reflection as distorted
and fat
and bloated
as I am in my mind

I can feel the flesh settled on my bones.
The fat waiting there,
wishing I could skim it off with a knife
I know it must be as soft
as butter

why am I doing this
why am I crying
why am I killing myself from the inside

I can't tell why
I'm dying

#dying   #not   #up   #bulimia   #guilt   #purging   #binging   #relapse   #knowing   #throwing  
Apr 11, 2016

A shock to the system
A Loved one is lost
Sledgehammer to the heart
Lightning bolt to the brain

Entombed in a blackness
Unable to move
Suffocating in a thick tar
Flooding my lungs

Suspended in stasis
For what seems like eons
My body in a slumber
My mind round the bend

Now ready for healing
With the passage of time
For banishing the darkness
For reclaiming the light

Things seem clearer now
The dark shadows are lifting
I can see clarity, lucidity
I can see a light ahead

It's turning my stomach
It's crushing my chest
I'm struggling to breathe
It's RED

#pain   #illness   #sadness   #death   #sorrow   #mental   #grief   #recovery   #relapse   #psr  
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