"We'll talk to you when you're better."
"You're too much stress right now."
"I'm sorry that happened, but-"
Better?
What the hell does that mean?
Does depression just disappear?
Does it sink into the ground,
never again rearing it's ugly head?
If so, when does it leave?
Because 8 years is a pretty long time.
A pretty long time
to always be watching your back.
To feel like there's a pressure,
a sickening weight
sitting on your chest.
8 years feels like a ******* eternity
when you can't sleep at night.
When you cry over anything
and everything.
When your anxiety gets so **** bad
you can't leave your bed.
But no,
I am the one causing the stress.
Because I ask for help?
For mercy when I **** up?
All I ever asked was for you
to see me through the horrible,
wretched, gut-punching sadness.
To hold my hand while I cry,
and to laugh when my day is good.
Instead I got pushed away.
Told I was "too much drama"
So instead,
I'm losing friends who meant the world
to my aching heart.
Instead,
I'm sitting alone,
watching as they become best friends.
How is that fair?
Why should I sit back and watch
as they love their lives?
Because what's really wrong in their lives?
3 years of friendship down in the gutter.
Memories, laughs, tears.
Random drives, haunted houses.
Gone
I'm just left with the pictures
forcing myself to relive the moments;
now forever lost in time.
"We'll talk to you when you're better."
there is no getting better
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
As sleep washes over me,
I'm reminded of you again.
Your dead, cold eyes
and that sly, sick smile.
I remember how at first
everything was perfect.
You were the epitome of
the handsome, dark gentleman.
Dates and movie nights;
flowers at my doorstep.
I thought I was in love.
I thought we could take on the world
together.
But the nights grew cold.
The flowers shriveled and died.
Date nights and movie nights
became parties.
I was too young to know
that beer tasted like ****
And I was too young to understand
that love was not shown with fists.
Nothing I did was good enough;
nothing could satisfy your needs.
You always thirsted for more
than my young body could give.
No became a useless word-
What good did it do, anyway?
You always took what you wanted.
Compliments and kind words
morphed into hideous insults
and painful slurs.
Ideas that still haunt my mind.
How can I feel beautiful,
when you always put me down?
Always told me nobody loved me
like you did.
That I was fat and ugly,
and weak beyond reason.
Why do I still suffer?
8 years and you still have a hold
on my broken and aching heart.
I can't handle these nightmares;
the agony of your calloused hands
around my bruised throat.
Your cracked lips telling me
to shut my mouth.
That my screaming would get me
nowhere.
I can still feel the pain from
my "first time."
When you told me I was a good girl,
right before you beat me unconscious.
I can still feel your breath on my neck
as your friends held me down
and took what they desired.
I can't even sleep at night
without checking to make sure
all of the doors are locked tight.
Can't even kiss my fiance without
seeing your face staring back at me.
8 years ago began my nightmare,
and even though you're behind bars,
the pain still rips me apart.
How much longer will I suffer,
before you get what you really wanted?
How many more years will I fake a smile,
while praying you'll never get out?
These memories still linger in my head,
threatening to burst out.
I wish for just one day of peace,
before I can no longer go on.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Who am I to keep fighting?
To hold onto something that's
crumbling beneath my fingertips?
I'm not the strong girl I was.
My soul aches for a break,
to be happy in complete solitude.
But there is no light
at the end of this tunnel.
Happiness was once on my doorstep,
begging for me to come outside.
But I slammed the door and locked it.
Instead of leaving,
I released my inner demons.
They taunt me and remind me that I am weak.
I can't resist the urge
to carve my pain into my skin.
I can't seem to look away as
the rushing blood stains my sheets.
Who am I?
Certainly not a soldier, fighting to survive.
My gun has been broken and ruined.
Certainly not an innocent girl
who lacks the knowledge to carry on.
I am stuck in complacency,
willing to accept my fate instead of change it.
I feel empty and hopeless,
praying for the day happiness returns.
And instead of knocking,
it kicks my door down and steals my soul
before this darkness overwhelms me.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
So it's 3 weeks 'till Christmas,
when everyone is supposed to be cheerful.
Yet working at a retail store,
reminds me that nobody is thankful.
I cannot create products for you
that we've never carried.
I can't teleport products from other stores
in just 24 hours.
Sometimes products DON'T WORK
and I can't fix them for you.
And sometimes things just don't go
exactly how you want them to.
I work 6 days a week and 8 hour shifts
to clean a store you get to destroy.
So do not come at me complaining of stress.
I understand it's the season
to worry about money and family
but I have the same troubles.
Do not take your problems out on me,
or my fellow employees.
We're only ******* human.
I get paid $7.75,
which is not nearly enough to deal with your abuse.
So learn to be more kind,
because I'm pretty close to snapping
on your ancient, decrepit face.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Twenty minutes in front of the mirror.
That's all it takes;
I can't look any longer.
Awkward smile,
and non-perfect skin.
Large-rimmed glasses
filling up my fat face.
Oh, and move down further,
it all sinks in.
Different sized ****
too overweight.
Stretch marks cover me like tiger stripes.
No thigh gap,
scars covering my shins.
My feet are too large
and my *** is too flat.
My hair is too thin
and way too short.
The mirror can be cruel.
I just want to love the girl
standing there crying.
But there's no love there.
I hate what I see.
Twenty minutes is enough.
Too much longer and I'll go insane.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Two drinks in and all my thoughts are racing.
But for once it's almost positive,
instead of mostly negative.
I know I'll always have my issues,
my mistakes are who I am.
But why should I let them break me
instead of push me ahead?
There will never be a moment
where I don't remember his face;
sweaty and contorted
forcing me to keep silent.
Or his hands around my neck
and the darkness closing in.
But he's not here anymore,
and the torment is all over.
I have people surrounding me
who love me for everything and anything.
And there won't be a day that passes
where I don't remember the love
of me and Josh sitting on that hill
watching the sunset sink beneath the clouds.
I can never forget that sacrifice,
of a young life lost to save another.
But in my memory he will stay,
because I have someone who cares.
Who knows all of my faults,
and wants to help through the pain.
And I have my friends
who only want the best for me.
Who listen when I talk,
laugh at my corny jokes
and love me for who I am.
I will never be perfect,
but I need to stop trying.
Imperfect is beautiful,
and I'm starting to see my beauty.
The scars will remain,
white and raised against my skin.
But they're reminders of a past
that changed my course of action.
The bones will never heal,
and the insults won't disappear.
But learning to live with them
is something within reach.
I'm not broken or damaged,
but pieces put together,
mended and healing.
I am superwoman.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
It's been almost a year
and I haven't touched a blade,
haven't even thought about it really.
An entire year without the
instant rush of adrenaline,
the bite of the metal
sinking into my skin.
12 months without the blood
soaking through my crisp cotton sheets.
I've been good,
but the temptress calls me back again.
It's so easy to slice the pain away.
Whenever I **** up,
why not carve another tally?
I mean, who's keeping track anyway?
Why is it so hard to move forward,
when it's so easy to slip and fall?
I'm surrounded by people who want me safe,
but somehow I feel so alone.
The glint of silver is calling my name,
it's so impossible to say no.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
The school bus driver was mental,
the seats always cramped and crowded.
You sat by me hesitantly,
but soon it became daily.
We laughed about the crazy ride,
and joked about possibly dying.
You were so easy to talk to,
and it was like you were sent from heaven.
I don't know what made me
open my heart to you.
I spilled everything out,
trying to rid myself of the darkness.
But still I feared you would run.
Evil things are meant to stay hidden.
But through everything, you stayed.
You would sit and listen,
and I learned what it was like
to have someone to lean on.
Since that day,
I have never been so thankful.
You don't get angry,
no matter what sentences I speak.
You've been there through the tears,
and the agonizing flashbacks.
Who would have thought
that a bus could create best friends?
But you're more than that,
aren't you?
We're soul sisters,
and I can never thank you enough
for saving my life.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
Alone and lost
she sits on her bed
crumpled paper on the floor
a heavy ache in her chest.
No one said it would be easy;
remembering the good is simple,
but the bad doesn't want to surface.
Afraid to love,
she dates boys who want one thing,
refusing to let another one hurt her.
But she became vulnerable,
her heart reaching out to someone
3,000 miles away.
He's a boy with some issues
but together they fix each other.
She picks up the pen,
inspiration coming hard.
She faces skype,
smiling at the man
who glued her heart together again.
The words flow from her fingers;
he is her savior,
giving her the strength to move on.
Writing was her only light,
but now there's something else to focus on.
And she doesn't mind at all.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Some say that
"depression doesn't need a reason."
That sometimes your brain is
"a mess of mixed signals."
I don't want a broken brain,
or one destroyed by repressed memories.
Where one day I'll wake up,
happy and cheerful and my silly self.
And then it comes crashing down,
like a brick to my chest.
I'll have another panic attack,
tears forcing their way to my eyes.
I'll freak out and scream and rant and rave
until I no longer know who I am.
Not like I ******* know who I am anyway.
I feel like a monster;
a creature hiding inside the ugly flesh of a human.
I can't be alone for more than 20 minutes
without my thoughts running wild.
Who would miss me if I was gone?
What are the consequences?
But I'm happy, right?
I'm the happiest girl alive.
I made promises.
I promise to never cut again
I won't smoke ***
I'll quit the cigarettes.
But that slow inhale and exhale frees me.
I exhale the hatred for myself
for a father who won't love me
and for a man who took everything.
Who robbed me of a youth that was promising.
I was smart, I could do it.
But how can you study
when the needle calls your name?
Or when you're hooked up to IVs
pumping life into your veins?
I'm "weak" because I self-medicate,
and being depressed is "sickening".
I don't want this ******* brain anyway.
You can have my thoughts,
or the paralyzing flashbacks.
You can take the agonizing anxiety,
and the self-hatred.
I just want it to end
before I lose it completely.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC