three years ago, I was broken
to say the absolute least.
I was torn between the walls
of my flesh
fighting battles between my breaths
arguing within myself,
out of myself,
for myself, and
against.
you'll notice that I'm not as quick with my words
metaphoric with my phrases
not nearly as expressionate and passionate and
let's just say it
dramatic
as I once was.
I am not the person I was then
I think that a new introduction is needed.
Hello, my name is J
I'm 21 years old, 160 or so pounds,
and I don't care what pronouns you call me.
I have a loving common-law husband
and an almost two-year-old daughter.
I have been clean from cutting for nearly three years now
on October 12th.
No drugs in three years on New Year's.
I. Am. Okay.
I cry less often and sit and stare less.
I clean and cook and learn every single day.
I'm still not too sure what it is that I'm doing
because I never thought that I would make it this far
but by god, I am DOING it.
I have BPD.
so if you knew me then, maybe all of my ramblings
FINALLY
makes a little more sense.
They do to me.
I don't write
not nearly as often
and maybe that's my most obvious sign that
I'm better than I was
three years ago.
Oct 4, 2024
Oct 4, 2024 at 11:52 PM UTC
here we are again,
sitting alone in a bed
sheets pulled off the mattress,
i've been too depressed to put them back like i usually do.
something so ******* simple, and yet it seems so ******* impossible to do.
my room is a mess
of discarded, disregarded food
that I could never bring myself to eat
much less finish
my fish cries out for food, but how
how can i move, how can i sit, how can i feed
i can't even take care of myself, Cornelius.
I never should have bought you
i told myself i was saving you
I can't even save myself, can I?
my clothes are *****
i've been wearing the same pants for the last week
I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I sleep
I have no time to think
and yet it's all that i can ever do.
I miss the person who used to care
i miss being obvious when i cared
now i can't feel anything
"I love you's" are empty
kisses are soulless, every breath comes without air.
I'm gasping,
but I still smoke
it doesn't burn,
it just jolts me into another reality, i suppose
everything is blurry, i barely remember today
i barely remember starting this.
I'm so good at pretending
i'm so ******* good at it that even I almost believe it.
i'm so hungry
if i eat, i'll puke
those pills look promising.
why am i alive?
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 6:59 PM UTC
Trigger Warning: Involves cutting and attempted suicide as well as an abusive relationship
J knew better than to be doing this again, especially after last time, but they couldn't help the sense of pure joy that they got when they pulled the slick razor blade from its package. Strangely enough, the sight of the unrusted, sharp, seductive blade made J smile, proving that they gave no other thought to how they shouldn't be doing this. The date was set, now. There was only one thing to do when they got this far along in the process.
They thought to themself, "It's just a few cuts, nothing to it, no reason to worry," though the truth was they knew that they weren't going to stop. Even with everything that they had finally gotten through, even with all the hardships that they fought against, the only thing they couldn't seem to get over was the act of splitting of their skin by their own hands.
They perched themself on the edge of the bathtub and glanced up to check that the door was locked, eyes darting back down after confirming that there was no way someone could walk in on them. They peered down at the barcode of an arm they had, smiling softly to themself as they took the blade into their mouth to hold while they rubbed their now free fingers up and down the bumps protruding from their skin.
'Not enough,' J thought to themself, shaking their head to get rid of the little voice in the back of their mind screaming, "Don't, J, he'll be mad! J you'll be punished!"
"He only cares because he owns me," J barked back aloud, voice rough and unforgiving. "If he didn't own a part of me, do you really think he'd care? Of course not. This is my rebellion. I don't want to be a part of this world anymore. I don't want to be some part of his sick entertainment."
Each of the bumps along their arm basically begged to be pulled open again, and with their fingers slipping up to their lips to retrieve the blade, they happily obliged. Every slice made upon their skin made J throw their head back, laughing at the sensation of the little pinch followed by the warmth of their blood.
"You know, for a second I thought you'd stop, little bird, but of course, you never listen to reasoning."
**** you, and **** your so-called reasoning, Bear."
Bear stood up straighter now, eyes piercing with malintent.
"You will not talk to me in such a manner, J, have you forgotten your place?"
"My place will never be under you, Bear."
"All humans like yourself belong at our feet. You've made a mistake, J, and now you will atone." He reached towards them, attempting to pull the blade away from their now half-opened arm, but J screamed and kicked away, jumping into the bathtub with their back against the wall, glaring up at Bear with the same glint in their eyes. "What are you doing, J? You cannot run from me. not here, and definitely not anywhere else."
"Don't you dare ******* touch me."
"I own you, J. I own your hands, I own your thoughts, I own your soul. I will touch you whenever I please. And you? You will obey me." J made another deep cut along their wrist, exposing the vein, the blue fading into the red as J bled out. "You think suicide will take you from me? How idiotic you must be, J. You'll just be easier for me to torture."
At this moment in time, J started sobbing, causing Bear's smile to widen as he leaned in closer, brushing the hair back from J's eyes before wrapping a hand around their throat. J didn't flinch, already used to such treatment from their past, but kept eye contact as they smiled through the streams running down their face.
**** me," they gasped from behind the force of Bear's hand, but he only tsked at them, pulling away.
"I wouldn't give you the honor," he laughed through a sneer, now standing with his arms crossed as he looked down at J's shaking body; obviously they were fighting back against screaming again. "Now, give me the blade, J."
"W-Why," J asked through shaky breaths, letting their arm fall to their side, the blood pooling down into the tub, staining J's leg with the crimson color, emptying out down the drain. "You don't care, no one cares, let me do it, then I can be all yours to **** with, right?"
"J. Give me the blade."
"Why? Why does it matter? If I'm gone, it'll be easier to **** with me, won't it? So, just let me do it, you don't care, right, Bear? So why?"
Bear was clearly fed up with the dramatics here and leaned down once more to ****** the blade with little resistance from J, who let themselves go enough to hide their face and scream into their bare knees, still coated with blood, as each knee rose to J's chest.
"You'll be punished for this, J. You lied. You said you'd stop. You said you'd throw them away. And you know I despise liars."
"Oh, great, what is it this time? More sleepless nights?" J sniffled, breath hitching in their throat. "Do it, ****** do whatever. I don't care anymore."
"So dramatic, little bird. You know better than to call me names, don't you? And besides, doing anything to you wouldn't affect you, you're too used to it. I'll punish my little princess in your place, and maybe even Nicky as well."
J looked up then, frozen in fear. A weakness, their worst one, was the hurting of their friends.
"Please," they whimpered, uncovering their face enough to get on their knees, crawling out of the bathtub to sob at Bear's feet. "Not them."
"Bad girls get punished, little bird. You know that," he cooed with a smile, reaching down to pet J's head. They looked up at him, ****** arm soaking Bear's lower half as they clung to him. They offered a final, soft "please," but Bear was already gone, leaving J to fall onto the floor, curling against themselves into a small ball, screaming out their friend's names.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 6:26 PM UTC
people act like it's something to romanticize, yknow, being this way. "oh I'm sad" and then everyone suddenly cares, that's what people expect to happen, but see, the sad truth is "oh I'm sad" is usually returned with "well, just stop being sad," or "yeah, me too," or "why? nothing's even happening to you." see that's the fuckin' thing about depression. even if your day is wonderful, even if you spend the day laughing, when you're alone, or even right in the middle of laughing, you'll be nothing. or at least that's how it is for me. you know I try, I really do, I try for meds, and even with them, it feels like nothing is really working. I'll try with these ******* stupid *** techniques I'll find online, I'll try to get my **** together. and for a time, yknow, for a little bit it seems to actually work. but then the smallest thing goes wrong and I'm back in my hole of self-loathing. maybe death isn't the answer, but life doesn't seem to be it either. I'm constantly manic these days, but all that I can do is sit here and go off inside myself like a ticking bomb until I explode, tear myself open, and start all over again. i. feel. worthless. like I'm nothing, nothing but some spec on the infinite cosmos. and that doesn't bother me much, you know, thinking about how small I am compared to literally everything else. I know how small I am, I'm finally okay with that, but feeling like this black hole? this is different. because not only am I small, I'm entirely forgotten. but it's not like there's much to remember about me, right?
J.
J was.. J was something, weren't they? If they weren't joking about everything, they were overthinking everything. Sure, J was sweet, but was J really anything we can remember? Do you remember much about J? Cause I sure don't. Let's see. J. J Novella Scott. 5'1, 135 pounds of pure mania and psychotic tendencies. 18 years old when they died, lost themselves to the battle with suicide, found with their blood seeping out of slits they made with the razorblades, aka their lovers. messy dark brown hair on top of hazel eyes, freckles in all the wrong places, eyes unmatched in symmetry. J was abnormally dull.
J.
J loved poetry, witchcraft, and art of all sorts, but they also had a crippling dependency on attention. Regardless of who it was from, they wanted it. A guy with an interest in ******* them, perfect, that's everything they could have wanted, forget anyone that only wanted to hold them in their arms and tell J that they were something incredible, **** all the past boyfriends and girlfriends that wanted J to see how great they were to them, oh yes, **** those that showed some ounce of humanity, because the truth is J just wanted to be used. They've been used all their life, this shouldn't have been anything new. To quote J, "we accept the love we think we deserve." Too bad J only accepted trash men who think with their second head. See, J, they were crazy. Not the crazy that would push a pillow to your face when you were sleeping, or at least they hadn't actually done it, just thought about it, no, J was the type of crazy to meet someone, read that person, discover what they truly wanted, and then J gave it to them. Wanted a **** for a pet? J was your them. Wanted someone to bash in and destroy mentally, J spreaded their metaphoric brain legs, and allowed the headfuck to begin. J was what we call a mirrorer, they can turn into whoever you want them to be just by reading you for mere seconds. They might not have acted like it, but they had a head on their shoulders, it just wasn't used properly.
J.
J was something new, yet not something good enough to be called special. They did normal things, and they did the abnormal. one of their favorite past times was rolling up their sleeves and carving the person who they loved the most's name in their arm. See, J got attached way too easily, and that was one of their many many many many flaws. And when they got attached, it wasn't for a month or a year, that sort of thing was eternal, whether they wanted it to be or not. J wasn't a great person, but they tried to be.
J.
J was nothing to muse at. their features weren't something to be described in a great love novel, they were basic in everything on the outside, and on the inside J was nothing but someone to be afraid of and afraid for. J would say they deserved this sort of death, something by their own hands. J wanted to go for years, and the thing is I'd bet they were just too much of a ***** to do it sooner. Maybe they were waiting for someone to come around and make them second guess it, or maybe they just wanted to be a thorn in the foot of the world for as long as they could. Whatever kept them here, it kept them for too long. See, J, as I've said before, wasn't very special, but somehow they did enough right in the world to make people actually like them, maybe even care for them, despite what J thinks. so in conclusion, J was ****** and J ruined everything they got involved with, may they rest knowing that in the end, they were right about everything that included themself. J was something weren't they? Or maybe, know, the truth is, they weren't really anything.
J.
J?
J, they were nothing. and the world moves on.
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
Nothing brings me joy anymore
I sit and I draw or I write
and nothing, there's nothing there
I want to cry, desperately I do
But I just can't
I feel empty and numb, but I was doing so well earlier.
I'm alone
with these thoughts and these nonexistent yet overwhelming emotions
I want to curl up and sob
but I can't
so how do I know that this feeling is even as bad as I make it out to be
If I can't cry?
What am I doing?
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 10:34 PM UTC
I am alone.
The only sound is the vibrations from my air conditioner breathing into the empty space filled with clutter that is my room, and the background of the television in the living room of a child playing Fortnite.
I sit, legs crossed, on my bed with my computer tilted back slightly so I don't have to move as I type up something meaningless to put into the world in hopes that someone, anyone, will get what I'm really trying to say behind these words.
I stare around my room, desperately searching for a way to make anything feel surreal, I don't look at the keyboard; I don't need to, and I am content yet disappointed with everything and nothing all at once.
I turn towards my basil plant, he's been growing in my room for a few months now, but I wonder if he wishes and longs for the outside the way my body does when it rains.
My phone does a small alarm, and at first, I'm thinking "SHE WANTS TO CALL SHE WANTS TO CALL SHE WANTS TO CALL" in a manner of a second before I recognize it as an Instagram notification, not one from messenger.
I recall, suddenly, how you always make me out to be some one-dimension person without depth, and I wonder if that's who I really am.
Am I nothing behind these words, just someone who types and waits for the real souls to make something out of it, is that all I am? Without true thought, just words without meaning, just sound without a voice, just a paintbrush without the paint.
I'm nothing until someone reads this, and suddenly I'm some sort of attention seeker, right? I assume so, have you even read my other poetry?
Every other one is about cutting or death or depression.
Like, we get it, J, you wanna die.
do it already.
but I won't
and despite what you think, it's not because I'm afraid of the afterlife, or the absence of such, or the possibility. I'm not afraid of death, I'm not afraid of being nothing, of being bones and decay, of being sent to hell, of being part of the universe as my atoms spread, I just don't mind.
you told me that I just thought about what's in front of me, rather than thinking of the beyond, but you're mistaken. I think about it often, I just don't mind. Because I've wanted death for a good portion of my existence, I'm unbothered with any theories of what happens, I'll be dead in some way, and that's all that I really want.
but then I have this little thing called hope
so I don't cut too deep, I don't hang myself, I don't completely decapitate my head from my shoulders.
because what if.
What if there's a life waiting for me
a life with a wife who holds me close during the day and closer at night
a life with three kids who call me dad, who love both me and their mother
what if there's a life where I don't constantly feel this weight pressing down on me?
I'm not afraid, I can say this without a doubt, I'm not afraid of death or what happens when I leave this existence, I just don't mind it.
The air conditioner has gotten too loud and my mouth suddenly feels dry.
I set my tea on my altar, but my legs feel like they want to cry so I don't want to get up.
I haven't cut, mind you, I think I've just sat like this for a little too long.
I turn towards my plant
and I wonder if he, too, wishes and longs for the outside the way my body does when it rains.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 1:24 AM UTC
Nah. Y'all are always romanticizing depression and bipolarity but yall for real don't ******* understand the struggle until you've been without your pills and suddenly you get them back and they lowered the dosage when you needed higher ones. I'm sobbing right now because I cant seem to get up to being even halfway normal. And yeah, normal doesn't exist, but you know what **** sure isn't normal? Struggling not to **** yourself every single day, struggling not to switch your moods because that **** is impossible, and sometimes you don't even realize it until you're being yelled at right-back, then you get your feelings hurt because you feel like everyone's against you because WOW welcome to mental illness. I can't help being so ******* impulsive and scared and **** You know, this **** feels like ******* trash. You feel insecurity on steroids and you can't keep a ******* relationship of any sort stable. **** ***** One moment it's like I love someone so intensely that ill die with them, and the next they could just disappear and I wouldn't give a **** I feel like everyone's against me when I don't have my meds and then they go and lower the dosage???? Do you have any idea how long I went undiagnosed andunfuckingtreated? That **** almost killed me. I get a chance of being just ******* okay. Just content and this **** happens. Am I being overdramatic? Yeah. Guess what. It happens with BPD and bipolarity. The paranoia that's stress-based. Loss of contact with reality. Suicidal threats or behavior or self-harm are usually in response to separation or rejection, and like I said I already feel like everyone's against me cause of this **** And then on top of that, there's my depression and anxiety. Let me ******* tell you, this **** is torture. I want just a day. Just one where I can feel like I'm okay. But go ahead keep romanticizing depression and anxiety and bipolarity and BPD, but you don't ******* get how much this kills you inside and out. I'm done with my rant. I feel better. Getting through life one day at a time. I just needed to get this off my chest.
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 12:29 AM UTC
I wish that I could be like you
go through the day and handle minor inconveniences as what they are
rather than breaking down because you dropped a paintbrush
I wish that I could be like you
laying down in bed, closing your eyes, and going to sleep without trouble
rather than struggling to be able to close your eyes
I wish that I was like you
drinking because it's fun or something new to try
rather than it being an escape from reality and a new addiction
I wish that I was like you
able to go through life without needing something to numb it down
rather than using every blade, drink, drug, or person that you can.
I wish that I was normal
rather than this mess of a person that can't get up
to take a shower most of the days
but you say normal is overrated
maybe to you, as you're so used to it
but for a freak like me, god, for a freak like me
that's paradise.
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 12:17 AM UTC
you're probably sleeping
maybe you've developed a normal sleeping habit since we fell apart
regardless, I know you're somewhere
peacefully existing
and here I am, likely to stay up until four in the morning
struggling not to cut, probably losing the battle
but hey, I took a shower today
that's got to count for something, right?
****
You're probably sleeping
maybe you're out with friends having a blast getting blasted
regardless, I'm sitting here listening to music
doubting my own existence
and there you are, unlikely to call me until I've finally gone to bed
easily getting through the hours, not minding the time between us
but hey, we called for a little today
that's got to count for something, right?
****
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 12:13 AM UTC
I just. I don't know. I can't talk to you without my ******* feelings getting in the way because for some ******* joke of the universe, you looked over Emily's shoulder at the right time. I can't ******* do **** without being reminded of you every ******* second of every day.
I can never sleep right, knowing I hurt you. I don't deserve you. I should have curved you, I know I'm the worst boo.
I can't listen to my favorite songs by my favorite artists because there the **** you are, just right there, sitting next to me in that ****** car, with my sweaty ******* hands lovingly in yours
I miss that
I miss knowing without a doubt that you loved me
and here I am typing this **** up because I can't seem to find the courage to tell you to your face
stop lying with your I love you ******** you stopped a long time ago, that much is obvious.
I can't paint without thinking of how you used to paint, and I always thought they were so beautiful but like everything else about you, you could never see the truth about how incredible you were to me
I loved you
I love you still
and it ***** because I know it doesn't change, you're not just gonna pick up the phone anymore
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC