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Tell me not to speak
But I never seem to listen,
I make the same mistakes and the same mistakes, I guess hoping I am forgiven.

I should have been quiet,
I should have obeyed what I always remember,
That I should keep it to myself and pretend everything’s hidden.

Imagine myself losing my mind,
I think half the feelings are real,
But not to breaking point:
(Even if I want to) I’m not screaming at the walls,
I’m not crying all day,
I’m not trying to get through to them whilst acting insane.

Multiple times I’ve told myself,
To pretend I never think of this,
Maybe they’ll forget, think you’ve slipped out of it.
I was never someone who didn’t express,
But now it’s always failing;
Few things I need and am not getting.
May 2020 · 246
The Social Anxiety Monster
Hi again, it’s been a long time
You have and haven’t been here,
But I kind of thought you’d died.
Well no, how could I ever think that?
Don’t you think I always knew you were there?
It was extremely weird though:
You let me have things.

I walked into shops and I
Spoke to people.
At the beginning of your holiday,
I was sitting in class and trying to bring you back.
When everyone ditches you and even your social anxiety finally does.
I mean wow though, I was walking around and
You weren’t gripping my body,
I just did stuff, knowing that you shouldn’t let me.

Don’t worry, I knew there were still things that you wouldn’t let me do,
I couldn’t get a job like a normal person,
Even though I needed to.
I feel like it sounds stupid though, when I try to explain how far away you are,
Barely there, basically not,
Yet there’s still things I can’t do because you’re not that gone.

So you were really there the whole time,
But it was just so great,
Except from everyone else ruining things.
Social anxiety though? Good; it may as well have been gone.
It still feels like a lie writing this,
Because there’s no way you eased off for basically two years.
That is not a thing.

Now that I know I definitely had some sort of anxiety attack,
I don’t know, I think I’m calm again now
Just don’t think about it, just don’t think about it.
I’ve been reading a story I wrote when you were still wild every day,
I already knew you were more present,
But I found it crazy because I read what I wrote and actually thought:
I don’t even do this anymore.
But I guess I’m home now, in you.

People will read this and think that’s great
(and it is astounding, I’d never believe you),
But I don’t think I feel anything.
Do I get my excuses back now?
Can I use them again?
I have social anxiety, LET ME STAY INSIDE,
Now maybe it won’t be about me being normal like other people,
Because now I’ll know you’re here.

Whereas before it would be like “really, you can’t? I think you can, why not?”
No, wrong topic Chloe,
That’s what people say about your physical health.
And you managed to not come back throughout all that?
No one believed me, but I still don’t think you were there.
I tried so hard to politely prove them they were lying.
I told them how I’m great without you,
But no one ever listens
And now I’m reminded of the things I stupidly said,
So lets just tie all my problems together
And I’ll just go daydream until death again.
Because I'm a naturally self-protective person, I feel like I need to explain everything I wrote about so people understand. I won't though, I'm holding back, except when I say excuses I don't mean for the sake of making an excuse, I meant that it was valid and I'd need it.

Anyway, I just wrote this after getting out of an anxious situation which was fine, until like a few certain words were directed questioningly at me to be honest.
Jan 2020 · 304
Fear of Them
Fear of them, I fear them,
No not men, just the idea of them,
Actually no, the idea I quite like;
It’s the non-real reality that scares me,
Terrorises me just a little if I stop to think.
No it’s not men, it’s just people.
Maybe it’s all just my social anxiety,
Talking to me again in a slightly different way,
I mean, I know anxiety can change but it doesn’t, not for me:
I know me,
I just don’t know what I’m scared of really.

I can’t believe I dare to write this,
Go away Chloe, just shut yourself up inside again,
Then you won’t have to think about anyone.
Well that’s a lie, I think about people all of the time;
The people I could have, the people I won’t, people I wish existed but I sadly know never will
(I convince myself they will anyway),
And when they’re not real, I’m not afraid -
Because I’m not afraid,
I started this all up as a game.
Did someone ever tell you, you should never read lists of phobias you know you don’t have?
Well I’m telling you, don’t. You might get some.

But do you ever daydream of your perfect soul mate?
Because then I think of guys, like: real guys that actually do exist
And then I’m just like no, no I’ll stay away,
Not today, not tomorrow, I’m not ready.
Then I realise I’ll never be ready.
I’ve noted the slow progression of “could you really be scared of that Chloe? Sounds pretty stupid.”
So I’m like no, no I can’t be,
And then I get these little feelings sometimes,
Which makes me kind of go, “really are you?”
But I’m not because:
That wouldn’t make sense
People who know nothing on the internet say that’s sexist without knowing what they mean.
If someone actually had a phobia of the opposite *** or gender it wouldn’t be their fault, because it’s a ****** phobia.

I don’t have phobias though, not one.
Maybe social anxiety, maybe another one, maybe I’m getting one more,
But really I must just be exaggerating.
I know it’s not a phobia - that’s not what I’m claiming,
But when I imagine having a reality where...
Well it just kind of scares me.
Please can no one take this the wrong way? XD This actually explains less in depth than I thought it would but I think I’m okay with that.
All of the old times, they have this kind of sheen to them,
I just read in a book that memories will continue to come back to you,
And what I thought was, they might be gone forever one day,
And then on the next page I remembered a time at a cinema with a friend or two,
And it had that sheeny coat to it on the outside,
It’s just a memory but I remember feeling like I felt, subtly alive
And I know there were times I felt empty and not there,
But looking back it would probably still feel the same,
Right now I’m not dissociating but I don’t see how things can live up to memories,
I don’t want to think of them but
All I want to do is to remember,
To never be able to forget
But I know memory is flimsy and unpredictable,
I don’t think many can remember forever.
You know when you remember times when you kind of felt like: “yeah, this is life and right now even if it’s hell sometimes it’s basically okay”?
I just can’t do it,
Please don’t make me,
I don’t want to see it everywhere -
All the things I should be doing, everything I thought I’d be,
I want to lock myself up somewhere else,
Even if the light won’t get to me.

Don’t come close,
No, I told you so!
It’s dangerous here, maybe even deadly,
No matter whoever for it can’t be a good thing,
I don’t know if I think you’ll hurt me,
But please just stay away
I need to manage myself but you’re taking that away,
Not that I ever had it,
It seems I keep slipping,
Further, further, gone.

It’s okay now, it’s the end,
I’m done and
Won’t be coming back again.

You’ll see how much less misery,
You’ll have away from me.

This is over,
I’m sure I really give up this time,
This is me actually giving it up,
Saying goodbye to everything I once had hope in because I’m done.
Sep 2019 · 235
All or Nothing
If it’s all the same to you,
I’d like us to
Never speak again,
Everything’s already ruined.
When this came to me it didn’t seem to mean anything on a personal level and I don’t think it does now, but I’m sure I could come up with one. XD
I’m feeling this way,
I don’t yet know how to escape
Yet I know it will evade at some point,
I’ve been drifting in and out,
Without much sound,
For maybe a year now, maybe only a second.
Should I think it’s an overstatement?
Is that what I’ve been lead to know?
Or is it just my mind bringing false accusations to surface?
Could it be because people want to doubt me,
Or because I assume if it’s happened to me it’s just a little bit, it’s only small; it doesn’t matter,
Not at all.

Three years? Four or five? Maybe none,
It’s not real, this doesn’t count.
Anxiety. It’s anxiety they said.
We’ll give you these pills,
Because you’re complaining about something else,
But we won’t acknowledge that.
You feel terrible, but we’ll say we’re treating the thing that you’ve put in some sort of remission.
Listen, listen. Why do they never listen?

It’s not that bad. How do I word it?
I could say I feel dead, but not really,
It’s been worse before,
So I don’t feel like I can use that description anymore.
It will go away soon,
I should be happy.
Actually, should I? I should feel tragic.
I do but I feel good sometimes too.
Why am I trying? No one who sees this will understand.
How about, it’s this:
I want to do something but I don’t feel like anything.
I don’t feel good but it’s not anxiety -
it’s been trickling in, but not this time, it’s not just that.
Maybe my emotions have just gone underground today,
Maybe it thought it would match to how I’m physically feeling.
I woke up so exhausted, I told someone I’m sick,
Still sick,
And they said being tired doesn’t make you sick,
But this isn’t normal tiredness,
This isn’t feeling down so your body can’t be bothered either,
This is one way of what it can feel like
When your body’s done with you,
And mines been done a long time,
But never long enough to care,
And in a decade it still won’t be time,
But I guess I should be content because
It’s only been five-hundred-and-thirty-two days.

I know no one will believe me, but maybe that’s okay,
For now,
After all, I can’t say any of these things out loud.
Like monsters, they would all surround me, laughing maliciously,
Thinking they were right,
They’re not, but how much longer do I have to put up a fight?
No one can know if I feel stressed or upset,
Not sad because then their army will have ammunition,
Meanwhile I have nothing.
Nothing, give me something,
But actually no, maybe I can’t take anymore false hope,
Because everyone, all of them, have ******* me over,
Time and time again.
They think I’m stressed, I’m not ill,
So if I say I’m starting to become stressed, unhappy, not good...
Well I don’t know what will happen,
They’ve already destroyed every single part of me.
I don’t want to give them more reasons to disbelieve my honesty.
Sep 2019 · 98
Blindness of Youth
We were younger
But so invincible we believed,
What we now look back and see as childish
We once thought was so free,
We were so brave
We thought we could fight anything
If we had the will to try.
Aug 2019 · 74
Untitled 12/8/19
I’m sorry for letting the darkness seep in,
So many times, and for telling you about it,
I should have let it fester quietly instead,
Then maybe you wouldn’t have got fed up and left just yet.
I never wanted to write poems about her
(Unless intentionally)
Because if she came back it would feel embarrassing,
Because I wouldn’t want to mark her like that,
As someone who I felt guilty about giving a reason to be guilty.
Usually when I write poems it’s about something or someone who really hurt me,
And I could never let that be true
So I never allowed myself to write about her like that,
Because I would tell her everything but I wouldn’t want to tell her that.
And now I know she’s not coming back,
But I don’t want to do it still,
I know I do it anyway,
But I can’t make myself press delete
On things that mean she’s never coming back to mess me around again.
My heart, or maybe my soul, can’t forget
That we were supposed to still be best friends.
Aug 2019 · 251
Acerbic Evocation
I am sick of all this fantasy,
The interrupting memories
And the pain that screams inside the walls of me
In a prison kept there for risk of my insanity.
And where can I scream it all out
Without it coming back to me,
Lurking around to smother me inside it’s mocking misery?
You can tell I couldn’t think of a title.
Aug 2019 · 586
Everyone Else’s Trauma
Everyone says I have trauma,
But they don’t know a thing.
I always thought I didn’t do things by halves,
But I only do the last end of suffering.

There is no trauma there,
Should I hate to disappoint you?
(I don’t.)
Everyone thinks I have trauma.

And when I feel strong,
Is it ever good enough,
Or too much, too healthy?
Must I be faking,
Or am I just dissociating?
Everyone believes I have trauma.

There is no trauma back there.
Aug 2019 · 359
It’s not every second of the day that I want to be bitter
And don’t say I’m not because I know I am, I admit it,
And it’s a colossal amount of seconds that I don’t care about being bitter,
But it isn’t all of them.
Not really.
I look at all the words I mean,
Not wanting people to come back right at me,
Reprimanding me for criticising health care professionals
(“They just want to help, it’s their job”
- Well that’s what I thought too,
So maybe someone should tell them to do their “compassionate” job right,
And to think, I wanted to be just like them
But better)
Criticising me for criticising the NHS,
It’s not about the NHS.
I’m not blind to see that this happens everywhere,
I was all for the NHS
I was
“Going to be a nurse”
And so so happy about it,
But they managed to take that from me too,
It didn’t encourage me to do better,
It just made me want to get as far away from them as possible.

So I thought, “don’t post it!”
And just as suddenly recalled that I should not hide this,
Even if occasionally in some twisted kind of way I do feel guilty, like it’s all my fault;
What they said, how they acted, what they thought,
Or just simply of their proposition that I’m ill because of myself.
After all, if I don’t speak out who will?
I think of those who do tell the world of their experiences,
And how when I read about it I felt understood, almost like there’s a place for me,
And how I wish I could be that brave,
Whilst knowing that I’m not.
They remind me that it’s not okay,
To keep being treated this way,
So why not speak out?
The side of me I taught to be nice to myself,
The one that challenges cruel thoughts, tells me that
Shouldn’t I deserve these rights? Shouldn’t I be heard without fear?
People like me have had things they need taken away from them by doing this,
But I never had them in the first place, so why not?

These health professionals have so much jurisdiction,
When it comes to our bodies and how we perceive them,
Even for patients who are headstrong and less vulnerable this can be volatile.
It will be painstakingly explosive.
I suppose optimistically I’d like to hope,
They don’t realise the power at their hands; their words, their treatment
That somehow makes it okay for them
To bruise the strong but delicate souls,
Which they manage to crush so easily, so mercilessly
(Instead of our symptoms)
But then I wonder, I just honestly wonder:
How it could be fathomable that they could look us in our pleading eyes and downright refuse us,
Undermine us, all at once as if we were a common inconvenience,
Like the whole point of their vocation
Is not to help people,
Not only when they need it most, but at all!

Sardonically, I laugh at it now,
How very hard I tried, and was happy to try, to be in this field also,
Because no matter what the cost to my current emotions,
I always told myself, just do this really well so you can be a nurse,
So you can help people.
Each time my life was hard I told myself it’s okay because the end result is that I’ll get to be a nurse to help people.
To help people.
It’s just so funny right? Because the nurse I saw didn’t want to help me!
And I know they’re not all like that,
There are good nurses, good doctors (I hope - I’ve heard if you’re lucky you’ll find one someday),
But I can’t stomach how you could go through all that effort to help someone,
To then be so inconsiderate and futile.

And around about here,
I tell myself again that I’m probably a horrible person,
Because I know not to paint everyone with the same brush, there are good and bad people in everything,
But if I have child one day in the distant future, would I want them to be okay with this?
With the ******* and insufficient “care” I’ve endured,
No. And I would even like to think I would scream it from the rooftops,
But I’m not that audacious or loud enough,
And frankly it’s scary,
Terrifying as hell because while you look at your health care system and see:
Trustworthy, compassionate and caring,
I see: fear and a hierarchy that will never hold you high enough to be heard,
Once one doctor’s said it’s because of your mentality
None of the others will look at you twice unless it’s to see into your psyche and not your physical body.

So part of me may half heartedly deny this when it comes to speaking out about this,
But this is not okay,
And this is not only for me to get the words out somewhere,
But for every other person like me, who didn’t get what they deserved from those supposed to help us,
It is not your fault,
And maybe one day in the long and distant future that we may or may not see,
(Because change takes a long time and not because we’ll die from misdiagnosis - that’s a bit dramatic,
Although accurate for some unfortunate people)
All of us together, we can make a difference.
This is a fight that I never thought I’d be a part of,
A war I never knew or acknowledged existed,
And one day, I want to say that I haven’t lost every single battle of this never ending war.
So I ended up writing a poem about a poem I wrote a few days ago. This shows my thoughts on posting that poem (‘Medical Trauma’) so I hope you don’t hate me and my opinions, but this is raw and real and the better part of me (I think?) tells me that this needs to be said.
Aug 2019 · 219
Medical Trauma
Every day’s a torture I just can’t escape,
Just knowing I will never get closure,
And even if I were to
It would never be okay,
Because I’ve this trauma they’ve forced me into,
This box they’ve shut me into:
Psychosomatic, anxious - don’t believe her,
No one can help me, no one wants to.
I know even if this all disappears
I’ll still feel like this, because it’s still happened,
They still have let me down,
Telling me it’s caused by nonexistent trauma,
While they’re the ones who abuse their power,
Tearing me down one by one,
Making me scared of anyone who could ever help me,
Because I know that they won’t and they’ll think I’m silly.
Now I just want to get rid of me,
I can’t stand it
It’s like every
Step I take,
I’m asking for more agony,
From people destined to
Never take me

Even I want to
Throw myself away.
It’s not okay.
Aug 2019 · 191
Your Vacant Place
Why aren’t you here?
I feel like screaming
If I ever had a chance the words would disappear,
You’re never going to be close enough to hear me,
You must have blocked me out long ago
And now all I’m doing is disrupting myself,
Maybe it’s you that’s giving me ill health.

It’s okay, I don’t mean it,
I could say I know it’s my fault
But then something stops me,
The fact it is not,
You left me, you deserted without ever existing to me,
Yet I have to exist just because you decided?
I don’t care how you put it,
You weren’t there and “nothing being fair”
Is supposed to make that all okay again.
It was never okay to begin with.

Maybe I could have been enough,
How would you know?
You never gave me a chance to try,
So when I feel like trying, I push all this distraught energy upon myself,
I doom myself to days of playing to lose,
Because what is the use?
I blame it on you, then I blame it on me,
Even though deep down I know it’s not really
My fault because you did this to me,
How could I have hurt you?
Just some innocent cells that you’d already decided
Were too much for you.

Or I make different scenarios,
All of them painful and none profound,
So I can spread this blazing blame,
Across two people who
Will probably never feel shame about it,
I let my mind drift to an alternate universe,
Where maybe you could’ve been good,
Just a little, although I feel ashamed
To let myself immerse in such pointless activity,
In an alternate universe I wouldn’t be deserving anyway,
But it’s all pent up, and I say it’s how you’ve made me feel,
But what if it’s just me?
What if the whispers are right and it is my fault?
Maybe you were always better off
Without me and that’s why you’re not here,
Because you should never have been weighed down by me,
So well done, congratulations
Because you know you never were,
You must’ve got your happy ending,
While I’m still here waiting
To feel like I can love someone
Even if your ever there space may have broke me.
But can you reconstruct a family?
I doubt that you can
They’re supposed to be forever
But not if it includes some temporary man.

Please don’t get me wrong though,
I’m not blaming it on males,
I’m simply taking note of anyone who never shows up,
Or only when they feel they can.

Often now, I think everyone does too less,
I guess I’ve just gotten to the bitter point
Of seeing all these mis-connections,
As if it will be a dying art.
I know all too well though,
This type of imperfection’s everywhere,
It’s seeping into our bones and
It might even break our hearts.

There is a little goodness,
Inside everyone though.
In some hard times or people,
You may just have to look a little harder
To find it.
Aug 2019 · 166
A Letter To My Soul
Dear agonised thing,
Older yet still young,
Thank you for being yourself,
For trying your best,
For being worn down and feeling broken,
Even if we don’t know the use
At least we both got through.

You think you’ve given up
Oh so many times
Just walking through disasters,
Proceeding until it’s done,
It’s over now,
You’re okay,
I promise.

I know you’re weary
Of all the next contretemps,
I know you don’t want to
Spare a thought on it
I’ll say this to you instead:
That it’s safe now,
And you can be safe here and
We’ll hold onto each other,
Because you are my safety
And at the end of the day
All we really have here
Is ourself.
Jun 2019 · 171
Bleakness, Lies
How would you know?
I could write whatever
But would you expect it to grow
Deep inside my heart,
And into my soul

Are all poems truthful,
Or as deceptive as the promise of snow
in England,
Is it occasionally true, or occasionally false?
Would anyone care if it was anything at all?

Perhaps any falsities in these creative mysteries
Are truths just hidden too deep to get to.
Sometimes the truth is bleak
And sometimes poems are made-up things with intentions to make you feel or think.
I feel as if I am trapped in this box,
Where everyone else has put me
But I know I don’t belong.

Suffocated - they make me feel it,
I can’t stand existing inside this bubble:
The walls are thick, there’s no way out,
It’s the home of the unfound,
Where they put people like me who they can’t make sense of,
Patients they can’t diagnose unless it’s with the term “functional.”
I know there are others,
But I feel so alone,
Isolated from being understood
By the only people who are able to help me.

They won’t help me,
I try to fight back, I try to scream
Either no one hears me, or they take it as a mark of insanity.

It’s hard to speak up,
When you know the process all too well,
You walk in, they repeat things that hurt you (psychosomatic), and then you walk out,
Though you don’t know how,
Because inside you’re torn down again,
Answers aren’t found and each time is worse,
You’re still struggling but they insist
That you’re as healthy as you’ve ever been,
So once again you’ve been missed,
By professionals trained to catch out illness.

Every time your reality trips you down again,
You repeat the words they told you:
“You’re fine,”
You tell yourself you can do it
-But not out of encouragement,
Instead of disdain, because when no one acknowledges you
Why should you not question yourself?
We are taught from a young age these are the people you should depend on and treat with respect,
So even when they toss you aside:
Remember to say “thank you” and walk out with a smile,
Seeing as they believe that you really are wasting their time.

This is what nightmares are made of,
Except when you’re both asleep and awake
It’s always still there.
It’s hard enough passing each day this way,
But without an ounce of recognition,
I wonder why I should even stay.

I don’t want to do this anymore,
But still I have to knock on doors,
Basically asking people to reject what I live,
Constantly trying to prove that I’m sick,
To countless people who don’t give a ****.
It’s already too much effort existing like this,
Yet I have to get out of my bed to prove it,
Even though each time they write an essay about me being fine,
Or maybe a few words because I’m such a waste of time.
I face what I fear everyday because my health’s at fault,
Yet they say it’s not really at all.
It’s been a year and they still have the audacity to tell me,
It’s because I’m not coping mentally.

Maybe I am a mess psychologically,
But I want you to know, it’s only because of them.
I would be stable, I’d be perfectly fine,
If they didn’t keep coming around telling me my efforts are wasted,
That I just can’t deal with my mind no matter how much I already put in,
So clearly I will just never be fixed.
It’s what they’ve told me though, it’s all of their responses and words,
That made me question my sanity,
That dredge up all of my anger for them,
Because not one bit of acknowledgement did they spread.

So here I lay,
Stuck in this box where no one can see me,
I can’t fix myself because - it wasn’t my state of mind that was broken.
I’ve been here for four-hundred-and-seventeen days,
Where I try to imagine a future where I’ll be safe,
But the trauma of looking for a diagnosis I know will stay,
Because they told me it was only caused my trauma in the first place,
But the only kind I’ve experienced
Is the kind they inflicted whilst I was already suffering.
Why do you believe
The lies you tell yourself
So strongly?

Don’t you know
You’re better than
You tell yourself before
You go to sleep?
Not my usual thing but here it is anyway.
May 2019 · 686
Deathly Deficit
I seek stability in
But I’m sorry,
I can’t offer you what
I ask you to give,
What we both need:
I don’t have a thing

What anyone I could find
Is anything, anything other than me,
I guess I’m too broken,
To provide the things I need
For either of us
I know my best won’t be good enough.

Keep out, make sure
You aren’t even close
I’ll ruin everyone not only
My limits have been broken since
I realised I wanted so much

In the end,
You would be
Off dead than
Dead with me.
May 2019 · 145
My Essence
In the essence of myself,
There is this scream from within
A broken princess who never did
Truly exist.

She never really sleeps she just
Exists quietly in the depth of the mist,
She is un-missed,
Alone, but she’s not afraid of the dark.

What traps her is herself
And maybe that’s why this is my essence,
Because even when I see myself I lose something else.

No one understands but that’s okay,
It gives me something that can’t be taken away.
I dream of this magical castle,
I can feel it in the essence of me:
The need to travel there.

The remains of my soul can slave there,
Whilst the princess waits for salvation,
Although, she doesn’t expect to be saved
And if a prince turns up, she’d probably end up
Pushing him back out of the window
Because if he didn’t get there soon enough,
What point is there of him now?
May 2019 · 63
The Mess I Make Of Myself
My body’s not broken
Maybe just my soul is then,
If it’s not my brain it’s just my psyche,
There really is nothing that I can get right.

I knew it wasn’t possible,
To be really loved by somebody else,
But this was what I preferred:
To feel so bad about what I did but be aware he didn’t actually care.
I hope he didn’t.

It’s just a part he can’t remember,
My friends told me he claimed to want the same, for us to end, only to make me feel better.
To do that he must have really thought so,
That I was good somewhere inside,
Even though I knew he just couldn’t see my darknesses,
But how could that be? I never did believe.
Surely he just wanted to make the rejection less,
If I used that it would have been to ease the embarrassment, pretend it wasn’t wrong.

Maybe it’s just easy,
To forget
Well, I know how easy it is to forget my whole existence,
No one ever knows when I’m there.

Before when I thought about how bad it was for him,
I did believe it because he was so
It seemed so true,
Not that it ever counts for much but I guess it was different.
However there was her,
He liked her not just before but afterwards,
I wasn’t jealous, I just pointed out that he didn’t like her
We weren’t her biggest fans together, I know that’s sad.
But if I was the middle and she was the
Start and end,
Maybe I was just a rebound of a crush, huh?

That would’ve been me trying to make myself feel better,
I feel guilty for even wondering this,
When he did everything right and
I was everything wrong.
Perhaps I really did just want attention.
The thing it taught was to never trust myself: mind or heart.
Both of these are always wrong
When it comes to the messed up person that is me.

I don’t think I’m capable
Of loving someone real,
And that’s only my fault still,
I’m not attempting excuses:
I’ve never believed in them inside my own surrounding essence.

I know I should stay away,
I knew it but still I played
With my imagination of wondering if anything could be an actuality,
It’s wrong, so wrong of me - but it was just a conversation,
And now I feel a mess over something so stupid, so small.
Of course I shouldn’t have meant anything at all.
Apr 2019 · 135
Untitled 25/4/19
Seeping in again,
Can I wash it out?
These same old feelings
Are coming out to play.

Maybe I should let this settle me,
After all it’s been a while,
Shouldn’t it be nice to know it still exists,
That I am capable of still feeling like this?

Fearful, nervous, agitated
There is no reason, it’s just me.
The only change of plans is that I now don’t have to force it,
I don’t have to go outside,
It usually gets worse when I have to do the opposite,
So this should make me feel relief,
Instead I am still wired.
I don’t know why I’m even posting this because it’s a load of ******* but this is a form of backing my poems up, instead of writing them down, which is quicker. Not that this deserves not to disappear.
Apr 2019 · 224
She Still Tries To Dream
Where are you?
You’re not coming are you?

It’s okay,
I always knew you wouldn’t.
It’s just, there’s this stupid,
Part of me that likes to fantasise.
She knows you’re no good for her really,
But she imagines it’s all make-believe,
She captures her wildest, strangest dreams
And forges them into some kind of reality.

It’s sick though,
Because that little girl;
You can do anything to her
(Anything at all),
And guess what?
She’ll always forgive you.
She has it stuck in her head,
That she always needs to try again:
It’s as if she owes them all,
Even though she’s the one who took the fall.

I don’t know why she’s still here though,
She doesn’t want you anyway.
She could find herself someone much better to love,
Someone who’s worthy and won’t leave her
Before they had the chance to stay.
Then again,
That’s also just another twisted hopeful dream.
Apr 2019 · 480
From A Doctors Perspective
Who is this young girl,
Thinking she has the right to be in my office?
I pretend to be nice,
I do all the tests,
After all, I can’t risk her suing for neglect.

I comfort her, by telling her it’s stress,
Indeed yes, this is all in her head.
I let her tell me all of her symptoms,
She must be a hypochondriac because how else would she have come up with all of that?
Nevertheless, so she can’t say I haven’t done my job,
I send her for an MRI and EEG,
I also use my favourite words:
I tell her it’s nothing sinister.

I can’t believe she’s wasting my time,
She has anxiety, her brain is all fine!
Now that I’ve ridden her off of my list,
I can move onto to patients, who are actually sick.
She walks in looking young and healthy,
Does she really expect me to believe her?
She’s too young to be sick, and all her tests say are that she needs a psychiatrist, not a neurologist.
I give the advice I’ve learnt from my medical degree, “just get on with life and do whatever you were doing. Go to university, you’ll be just fine! You can’t keep relying on your family forever.”
Poor them, they must be really fed up of her,
She’s just too lazy to make her own food, to get out of bed, to go alone to the toilet unaided.
Yeah, she can still go to university, it’s not like she needs 24/7 care in case she falls down the stairs!

I tell her she doesn’t need those crutches that she uses,
I tell her she’s wrong about social anxiety, although she says it’s much better and I’ve only known her five minutes,
She’s just stressed, her diagnosis is functional.

Six months later her MRI and EEG are normal,
But I already knew it would be,
I advise her doctor to sort her out with a psychiatrist, even though she’s already seen one because I don’t get paid to actually listen to people.
A year later and she’s trying to get another neurologist appointment?
We can’t be having that, let’s make her referral disappear!
She’s told an ophthalmologist she’s having temporary loss of vision, flashes of light?
Who even cares? It’s just in her mind.
She’s chased up how her urgent referral hasn’t be fulfilled in a month,
I guess I’ll have to write her doctor a letter then,
I’ll say it’s just migraine auras because when I saw her she was fine.
She’s only pretending to be disabled,
After all it’s functional so she must be pretty messed up inside.

I’m a doctor so people know I’m smart,
So I get good money,
I don’t need to actually believe my patients and look for things that are not obvious to see.
I’ll make sure she feels like she’s going crazy and will never be helped or believed.
I tell myself I don’t want him,
I tell myself,
I tell myself
But then I cry so hard
Going in reverse to a place that I’ve never yet been.

It’s supposed to get easier,
That’s what they tell you,
But this is only ever weighing heavier.
I could try to be what I imagine you’d have wanted,
But why should your mistakes make me feel ashamed?
And because of my existence I never
Want to give you what you want.

I guess I should hide the anger from my eyes,
But why prevent it when all you feel is volatile and pathetic?
Complaints when I hold it in and accusations when I don’t,
Sometimes I feel I should just hold kindness for myself.

When I have time I feel exhausted,
Later I feel like a failure to have let him win again:
It shouldn’t matter,
It shouldn’t matter.
They’d probably tell me negative affirmations don’t work,
Except to me they’re stating positives.
I’m trying to make it okay,
I’m trying to be better.

Always, I say, I don’t want him
And now his nonexistent thoughts won’t go away,
It must be my fault for becoming upset because really he’s done nothing
(Even if I can’t claim that without my own blood boiling),
Teasing myself with non-realities, with fairytales and broken dreams of a type of heaven I will never see.

My small voice murmurs,
“I want it, please.”
My brain tells me it would be better not to breathe.
In the dark it likes to help me,
Supporting in my self-destruction,
Simply because why shouldn’t it?
It’s a weapon I can use to back up anything no matter the relevance.
I’ve subtracted all the logical ways this could ever matter,
Yet it’s still here waiting for me to succumb,
Lately it gets pointless to want to hold back.
Nevertheless, with every single thought I have a defence
Because I never want anyone else to win,
I need to be ready,
I need to be able to show them all:
That this never meant a thing to me.

That just wouldn’t make sense,
To admit such sacrificial things
When I shouldn’t be the one to feel bad,
So no, just because I know it’s his fault,
Does not mean his absence hurts me.

It’s all just softly (painstakingly) nonexistent to me.
Jan 2019 · 216
Beneficially Detrimental
People think you should be optimistic,
They think you should give yourself goals to try to ascertain
To try and make yourself better.
These things though can be detrimental,
Because where I am
You have to get used to not being able to do things,
But then people say that you should make your goals small and attainable,
Yet they don’t understand that what is reachable one day,
Can be out of sight the next,
No matter how simple.
I am so much
Than you would have me believe,
And each time you do this
I stand taller than you think I can

But I am exhausted
Of being stronger than they all believe,
When it doesn’t get me anywhere.
Anger is starting to quell and fill up my head along with the misery,
I don’t see the point of stopping it.
They give me no reason to conquer anything.

You have no idea
What all of this amounts to,
It actually makes me feel a bit hysterical
About how many things are wrong with this,
How many thoughts and feelings have been conjured from the impact;
The impact,
That you, of course, deny is even happening.

Maybe one day this will all just end,
At least a thousand years from now I must definitely be dead
And then it will be over.
If only I could wake up one day
And pretend this isn’t happening,
And eventually it could actually be convincing.
Maybe there won’t be so many
Filling my head like a poison to myself and others and
It could all just be
And it never would have happened.

Even if I could get over it,
And pretend it hasn’t changed me,
Pretend it hasn’t caused an ounce of impact:
That would be too much like what you’ve been wanting.
So whatever I do it hurts me
With acceptance or denial
When I can never
Deny any of it.
But you do.
And I’m the last person to go around blaming people,
But oh Hell and Heaven do you tempt me.

I don’t want to have to think about this everyday,
I’m sure it will always be there though
And I wish I wouldn’t have to worry about this,
But every reaction you make causes more damage
And you’re not even slightly important,
It must be good there’s hardly anyone else
Who is actually in my life,
To risk having a similar reaction.

Everywhere they all say,
That’s the thing, all you have to do
Is not to care and then it can’t hurt you.
I must agree I’ve said that too sometimes,
But I don’t care for them at all
I don’t really care what they think
But it won’t ease the tension or aggravation that’s building up inside of me.
Jan 2019 · 256
Learnt By Demonstration
Absolutely insane,
You’re pushing me past my limits
And making me deranged.
It kills me to know
All this agony you’re indulging me into
Is helping you shove me away,
And prove that it is only my mental state.
I could laugh at the amount of therapy,
This could force me to need.
I’ve had so much
Why would you make me feel this way?
Everyday I doubt myself,
I’m not sure how many times it’s from my symptoms
Or from what you tell me about them.
I know though,
I want everything to go away.
There’s no point of existing like this,
Acknowledgement probably wouldn’t be enough for me now,
But no one’s letting me have just that anyway.
While you throw your words at me
Like bombs whilst expecting me to think they’re bandages
Maybe you should just finish the job,
Because each breath I take becomes more forced, more tired, more hateful
Except none of you who think you’re doing your job
Notice a thing.
And that’s how I know
I would’ve been a **** good nurse,
Because I would have cared, I would have worked for people
And now you’ve made me not want to see any,
Perhaps even more than I did before.
I’m not sorry I don’t feel sorry anymore,
You’ve shown me how to feel like this,
I can’t believe I ever trusted,
When all I get is betrayed, ignored or shoved aside
And I’m done now.
I don’t want to listen to humanity anymore:
I don’t think there is any left.
Jan 2019 · 136
Untitled 22/1/19
Everything’s crashing down on me,
Sometimes softly but
I can still feel it,
I breathe it in and out
While I’m still not understanding
What am I supposed to do with it,
I don’t feel like coping,
I don’t feel like writing
And I don’t want to tell.

Everything’s spinning around in circles in my head
And it’s a dark place where the light still exists anyway,
They say I see in black and white,
Without reason for the black while I don’t get why there’s any light,
Because it only sends me into darkness.

Am I supposed to make this
I feel like I need a rest,
I feel like I want to hide from everything that could evoke a potential thought.
Maybe they are winning, I don’t feel like I am.

Wasting, running out of people to leave me,
I don’t want anymore.
And even those I love make me selfishly feel sad,
All because I know I should be happy for them,
What if they become as messed up as me one day?
I think my soul will fade away.
Jan 2019 · 119
Are You Making It A Secret?
Ask me in the night,
How I am feeling?
I’ll still tell you I’m alright,
But part of me won’t want to.

You see there’s this ache
Somewhere inside
Telling me to push it out, to make it escape.
It won’t go.
There’s no point passing it around
It only ever makes people leave.

Yes, right, okay:
Maybe I am delusional, deceptive
And, it’s all my wrong idea
But that still doesn’t make it fine.
Why shouldn’t we worry that our own damage
Will be someone else’s collateral?
Do you not think I’m aware?
Maybe I’m not still naive.

If you’ve come here for the truth,
Then I am coping just fine,
In fact it was better than ever
And all blue skies.
That’s also probably the reason why
People don’t realise.
If you’re around when I’m like this,
If you’re in the way of my state
And there’s nothing left to do,
Then I won’t bother to hide it from you.

Actually, I hate to admit it,
But I’d probably go all out in making sure you knew,
Because what else is there to do?
Where’s the point? Even if you told me where it was, I’m not sure I’d go find it.

But if someone new walks in,
If it’s someone presenting opportunities;
A meaning.
I follow through with that instead,
I get on with it and then afterwards,
When I’m alone,
I close my eyes and remember what I was feeling the last time I pushed it aside
And I dissolve into it
Because I’m back to not caring,
I’m back to believing in how bad I feel
And maybe I don’t mind.
Jan 2019 · 108
Is She Sad?
I feel the emotions
Awareness tells me I can write something,
But my mind won’t bring the words together
So I’m wondering how I’m supposed to
Bring the light back out from the darkness?

That makes it seem like I want to make things positive
And I don’t.
It doesn’t bode well with me
And if someone starts talking about good things
Then I’ll be the first to shut off;
If I don’t, I wonder why
People are being so happy, so optimistic about life.

Then I remember how
I’m happy really.
How I just need to remember that this isn’t all of it:
I’m just getting stuck in my head and pulling negatives together,
But that in real life I have something left in my days
Which makes me okay.
You see I’m not really miserable
All the time
It stops for a little,
So no, nothing’s wrong,
Everything’s fine and
I shouldn’t admit things I’ve never had or wanted to
Not now, because anyway
They would be the nails to this coffin
That sometimes it feels like
I already might be living in.
It’s okay though,
I’m still alive.

I guess
It’s just
Good for me.
You can pretend
You don’t know that though.
How are you?
But I've been saying it
Since the beginning.
Are the whispers inside true,
That maybe I can finally start to believe it?

What did it take,
Some may innocently wonder.
With every single breath I make.
I've been half trying to ignore the improvement,
Fearing one moments notice will
Surely steal it all back.
"No," I whisper alone, "I want to be better."

The other half
I try to be proud for the little things now,
So really I should feel

I swear I do very much venerate all of my achievements,
It was the only way,
That I could continue to survive.

Unequivocally honestly,
I'm afraid.
Scared of it all going wrong again.
Waiting to feel the terror of all the endless times I've tried,
Getting thrown right back in my face again.
Because isn't that what's been destined to happen
From the very start?

I've been having an almost
Two month long rest,
A complete break of everything.
It was only meant to last a month, but after that month had been and gone,
It started to actually feel
A little better, brighter,
Less dark.

I'll admit it,
I'm guilty,
Guilty of getting comfortable with how it started to feel.
I didn't want it ripped away from me,
I know once it's gone it will be hard as Hell to get back,
I've already been through all that,
I am still.

I want to get back to pushing myself.
(Like this)
I never wanted to stop,
But I had to listen,
My body was screaming at me, for me
To stop.
And this evidence is telling me why I had to listen.
It seems you can't beat your body,
Ever, but especially not when it's fighting for you and against you.

And the symptoms yelled
Please stop, please be still,
Like they wanted me to sleep all day,
But still it will take half-a-year for there to be any difference.
But I waited.
I didn't get any choices.

So now, I'm sorry
It just terrifies me that trying,
When I finally let it be,
Might tear me back down, to where I used to be.
I'm not foolish enough to expect this is the end.
Surely when I try again my symptoms will join in too.
They only started to improve
The more I tried to rest.
Yes, eventually - After a lot of effort I got here,
But you have no idea how I tried.
How I limited my actions,
So in a month maybe it won't be so hard.
Now I'm here, I'm worried my efforts will send me back.
Don't make me go,
I don't want to be useless anymore,
I'm still bad but so much better,
Please don't
Stop me,
Hurt me,
Trip me,
Trap me,
Lose me to my own body.
Not anymore.
I'm still here
Nov 2018 · 86
Dear Doctor(s)
Why aren't you listening?
Why aren't you listening?
I'm screaming out so you can hear me,
Won't you help me,
Please don't instead scare me,
I don't need more counselling I need you to find someone,
Who will really try and help me.

'Why aren't you listening?' My thoughts scream out,
But being myself, I only sit across from you and nod.
I don't want to be rude to anyone,
Especially not the doctors trying to help me,
But are you?
You keep sending me away.
I feel the tests and scans you order are just to shut me up,
Like you think you're being kind by indulging me,
Or covering your back incase something really is wrong.

Why aren't you listening?
I already know something is wrong,
I live it everyday.
I live with my thoughts too but I'm sure they're not the cause.
I do t suppress things for long,
I like to shout about them,
I like to explain.
Why won't you hear me explain?

Why aren't you listening?
Aren't you supposed to help me?
Yes doctor, I know how it looks,
I know each office I step into will house another you who will think it's either functional,
Or put on for a show instead.
I don't want to be a freak show though,
I want to be your patient.

Why aren't you listening?
Stress and anxiety is all you say,
But not social anxiety now?
That's the only anxiety I have,
So I guess it must be real.
But no
You don't want me to indulge this.
If this is how you treat a young women with social anxiety,
I don't want to know how you treat the others.
Most of the things you say or how you act,
Would set me in a downward spiral on what was an average day before.
I'm not blaming you for my social anxiety,
But perhaps I am for being quite mean and untactful.

Dear Doctor,
I'm trying to still believe
Someone like you will listen,
Who won't be mean and accusatory.
I'm willing myself to hope,
One day I'll meet you who will be nice,
Who will be half as desperate as me to discover what is causing this,
Someone who won't dismiss me.

My first question for the next appointment I go to:
"Will you listen?"
Nov 2018 · 163
Waiting For Relapse
It's almost like I'm walking on eggshells,
Waiting for the loudest crack
To make the social anxiety monsters
Come running back.

You know when you prepare yourself for danger,
Expecting it to be right around the corner?
You quietly listen anticipating the worst,
But instead it's just eerily
Oct 2018 · 133
Drifting Through
Sometimes I feel like I'm just never going to get there,
Only I can't express this to people:
They'll think I'm being ridiculous because I am so young.
When I looked from afar to this very point in my life though,
I guess I thought it would be different,
Like I'd feel more ready for anything.
Instead it feels like my dreams are still ten years away from me,
Which makes me doubt they'll be five years away like how I'd imagined they would be.
I don't feel like I can,
What's the use?
They all want me to admit I'm broken,
So I keep refusing.
The few times I believe I'm suffering I can't admit,
Because they'll see it as proving them right,
And I need them to understand they've got it all wrong.
I want them to hurt like they've hurt me by their dismissal.
I don't want to see another psychiatrist I just want them to leave me alone,
It's not like they're ever going to help me.
Then there are times I know I just need to keep pushing,
To keep trying to find someone who will believe me,
Someone who won't just say it's because of my anxiety,
Except then my social anxiety comes back,
Because they keep proving to me that there's no way they'll think I'm not just mental.
And maybe sometimes they actually think they're being nice,
But seriously? Are they blind? They would never put up with that themselves.
They push me to my limit,
If it's evident I'm going insane then they should know,
That it's all because of them!
It would drive any emotionally/mentally stable person close to the edge,
But then by wandering over to it, they're proving themselves right,
And I don't want to help them.
They're not helping me.

I just want someone to hear what I'm saying,
And not immediately see "social anxiety"
After all, their labels of "needing psychiatric help" were never there when I needed them,
And I took it like the deepest stab back then,
And now, instead I can't push them away when I don't need them,
I can't escape the "should probably see a psychiatrist", "would probably benefit from counselling" and "symptoms are dissociative and functional"
I can't run fast enough from it -
God knows I can't even run at all,
But professionals tell me that "I can do it" as if I'm making it up,
Or should just try harder.
Do you really think I don't want to be capable of feeding myself food and drink?
At points I could try a thousand percent a thousand times to pick myself up from the floor again,
Will power doesn't work!
It doesn't get rid of physical barriers that everyone else is telling me are some result of trauma, stress or anxiety.

I feel like I've been beaten down so many times already,
I want to find out the truth but I'm too scared of being laughed at,
But I got over that fear that my social anxiety taught me when I first sought help,
I've tried so many times though,
And each time I've guessed the same negative outcome.
It's as if someone really is planning and plotting against me,
Will they not stop till they've gotten me admitted to somewhere I don't belong right now?
Even my reactions would serve as proof to them,
I must just be insane, completely deranged.
"Not normal"
Come on, I won't pretend to miss the meaning of that,
What they really meant was: that's not a mentally healthy person's reaction. Maybe she really is making it up.
The truth is you can't make stuff like this up!
You can't fake shaking the way I do,
Not even more than enough diazepam would cure it.

I know this doesn't help prove my sanity,
And this doubtfully sounds like anything poetic,
It's just I didn't feel like writing, and when I feel sad I can get angry,
I'm just trying to vent and tell the truth,
Because maybe one day, someone who feels as alone and disheartened as me,
Won't feel as bad as I feel.

It's really not glamorous,
And I don't know where I am finding the strength to share this from,
I need to get it out though,
And if anyone who needs to hear this, like me, to find out they are not really all alone reads this and finally feels a glimpse of safety,
Or even to open the eyes of people who wouldn't otherwise understand,
Then maybe this had a purpose.

And if anyone who ever reads this,
Happens to be a doctor,
Or mental health professional:
Please listen.
Please listen to your patients without judgements,
Without immediately linking physical symptoms that sound out of sorts, or that don't make sense, to what it says in their notes about their mental health.
The thing is a lot of people pick and choose what to listen to and when,
And in my experience it always seems to be the wrong choice at the wrong time.
If you have a patient who tells you they desperately need your help,
Or even the ones who are too afraid to ask but are despairingly trying to make you notice, to make you understand what they put up with day by day,
Please, please help them.
And don't you dare tell them, like one told me, to "throw away your crutches, I don't like you using them"
Because you are killing every shred of dignity that they are trying to cling onto.
All we want is to be taken seriously,
WE are trying to get better,
But are you really trying to help us?
You may think you are but perhaps you're probably not.
Please realise, that you're in such a respectful position that it's important how you handle what you say, your responses.
Please understand how you have the power to break vulnerable genuinely sick people.
Please believe people like me and listen when they say they don't think it's psychological.
Please listen.
I know this is basically just a load of venting and ramblings but, please listen.
Oct 2018 · 209
Night Time Dreams Only
Darling don't you know that dreams are for bed time,
Be careful you don't get them confused,
For no good things can come from
Your thoughts being abused.
Oct 2018 · 177
As She Walks At Night
The street is silent, as she walks down,
Starlight surrounds her, all around.
She wants to be alone, she wants to go,
But all she wants to do is be at home.

She can't face the life there though,
The reactive circumstances,
Facing everyone else face up to stuff,
The things that she just wants to quieten down.

Pacing the empty streets, she sighs,
"Goodnight to the world, I'll never say goodbye."
She knows she can't walk this path forever,
People will wonder 'what that crazy girl is making holes in her shoes for?'
Never good at saying goodbye,
She goes back to her warm house,
Submitting herself to trying to understand everyone else,
But according to most, she picks the wrong people to understand.

Whilst she stumbles up the stairs,
Because she's not very well,
And she still needs more rest,
She's feeling upset with the reason of her silence,
For this only makes the noise in her mind more violent.
She wants to be heard, and also she doesn't,
Because she knows the importance of the needs of others,
Even when they conflict her own,
So to make herself feel better,
For some of the cold thoughts inside her head,
She attempts to tell herself, it's because she's trying to be a good person first, instead;
Or else she'll think she's being selfish, for wanting to be able to confide in someone.
Maybe a sympathetic person outside the situation,
Could understand how she feels and why she views things as she's starting to.

She just doesn't understand,
Why it's so easy,
For everyone else to cut people out.
This is her come down,
When she thinks that perhaps, she too, would be better off with out.

'Can you get rid of everyone who splits off from others?' She wonders.
'Not really', she answers, 'because there would always be someone else,
There will always be someone to leave someone else.'
'It's okay', she tells herself, 'because eventually they'll all have left me too,'
Because surely after the amount of people that leave her,
There should be a time when she really is completely on her own.
Everything about the future is so different now:
Thinking about the future before,
Used to be like fluffy white clouds,
Hopeful and filled with friends,
Back then, I could never have imagined not having friends
And I'm not even the type of person who's magically friends with everyone,
But I always assumed I'd still have a few,
And then it wouldn't matter so much how many people hated me,
Hypothetically, if anyone even bothered enough to.
I'm not sure they would though,
Because I don't feel like anyone even sees me,
Not anymore, and probably not in the first place,
But I didn't care then, enough to notice.
Sep 2018 · 198
My friends
I love my friends
with all I have,
while I believe I still have them
and later.

I harass my friends,
they don't want me to talk to them,
I tell myself I can fix our problems.

I wait here to be there for my friends,
however they don't need me.
I need them though,
so I try to show them
how useful I can be.

I tell myself that I have friends,
they get upset when I act like I don't have many,
so I tell myself the few I have
are the best and all I need.

I'm getting bored of being lonely now,
so I try to make it better.
I go to lengths to surrender,
to get my friends to care for me.

Each day that passes,
the surer I am
that my friends don't treat me the same way.
Shall I pretend it's all an illusion,
or give up on this stupid game?

I spend my down time wallowing,
because I've run out of fuel to act happy,
the memories I have are now distant,
and I realise I can't recreate a single one:
the friends I needed for them
are all gone.
"I can't read you my poetry,"
I say completely astonished:
"That's what confident people do,"
I hear myself say to an empty room.

("Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, the second one is looking for it")

Should I start to feel ashamed?
Because when people tell me I'm not confident now,
I want to scream that they're to blame,
And not for my so called "lack of self-confidence", only for their lies:
Because, I can be very confident sometimes,
I just probably won't tell you about it,
I don't want you to know,
If you thought I was so sure of myself, then that would make me low.

(I'm not speaking to myself though,
I'm simply conversing with people that you don't know are there,
And that's okay because,
I only do it noticeably when I'm alone.
They may not be real, but they exist to me,
Even more so than you and I.)

And yes, I know, that I have my moments;
I know what that feels like;
To question yourself and be convinced that
You're doing everything wrong,
I've had way too many times to recount to you,
But I also know, many occasions where I've secretly taken control back,
Where deep down, I know that I am kind of okay,
And I don't appreciate you questioning that,
Unless that's what I'm purposely trying to make you do.
-And maybe I'm slowly starting to ascertain, or wonder
That it's actually a bit manipulative,
And the fact I do it to make myself feel better
Is kind of messed up,
But honestly? It didn't seem like that when I did it,
I thought it was natural to be self-protective.
Self indulging,
My secrets unfolding,
Thoughts and feelings exposing,
Liars surrounding,
Who ask me to empty out my head
So that I can give everything inside to them,
But I don't want to be studied.
I hope no one takes this personally, but then again, it's not my job to make everyone happy and I know I don't need to explain myself to anyone.
Aug 2018 · 214
I Think I Need New Friends
I think I need new friends
Because, I'm bored of being kept waiting,
I'm annoyed with constant rejection.
I care too much and then all they aspire to do
Is to leave me,
Often multiple times,
As if it is so easy.

I think I need new friends,
But that's a waste of time.
I'll only be trying to shape someone in my mind,
Whose exactly like the others.
If you want a friendship as amazing as the last one,
You'd better have it with the same person,
But they left you
And treated you like *******,
After all they knew you'd always be there.

And I'm still waiting,
Though they never come back,
And even if they did,
I wouldn't be able to take them back.
I never used to let this person get away with everything,
So I don't know how it happened.
And once a friendship is dead,
There really is no coming back:
I've tried it but it's never been the same, except from once that is,
But they've left me for the last time,
Except now they're not coming back.

I think I need new friends,
Should it really make me feel so bad?
Aren't friends supposed to pick you up when you are sad?
All I ever do, is get left all on my own,
And in these desperate times,
When I only want approval,
All I see is holes in the connections
I'm supposed to have with people.
They say they're close when they can be bothered,
But mostly they're only far away.

I think I need new friends because,
I am sick of feeling this way.
I yearn to give you everything
That they do not give you,
I want to give you rest and comfort,
As I help you pull through.
If you need taking care of,
I'd promise I'd be there -
But you're so far away,
I feel like I'm not there.

Miles may separate us,
But in my heart I hold you close,
And if I had the chance,
I'd never let you go.

I spend parts of my days,
Planning out ways,
Of how to get you back.
I know you wouldn't mind it much,
But there's always obstacles in attack.

I think you are okay, or at least on the surface,
I have to make myself trust
That you are happy in that family,
That I've been taken out of.

Knowing from experience though,
It will probably hurt one day,
Or at least for the oldest of you.
And I will wrap you up warm
And try to empathise,
Never the less, I will try my best
To bandage it all up and make it the most it can be.

And if you wanted, I'd hide you away and bring you everything you need.
For me general daily things are hard, if socialisation's involved,
But I'd try my best for you,
Because that's what you're supposed to do
For the people that you love, for family.

Lately I've felt that they're stealing you all,
That they're cutting me out.
Our mother only wants me on her terms,
And that's not how it should be;
I would walk over mountains for you, you see.
I can't come to you, but I have tried getting you to me.

Still, I worry that one day,
You'll think I gave up,
You'll think that I left you
And nothing could ever make that true.
I will always try to do what's right by you.

I don't want you seeing the wreckage before you need to,
Before you can handle it.
I need to know you're safe, not sorry.
I'm starting to wonder here, if maybe I'm just being dramatic.
But this is some of the reason that I pretend or hide it,
With the act of being a somewhat good daughter,

Well really it's also because:
It's hard not to do the job when you're with her,
Almost as if it pulls something from me;
Like it's my fault for not having what I want,
And if I'm good in that moment I'll have it.
Except it,
Never comes.

I miss you four,
And I'll always love you more.
Aug 2018 · 91
Untitled 9/8/18
I always give most people the benefit of the doubt,
Whether they seem like they should receive it or not,
So why should I keep doing that now?
It usually only turns out to be wrong.
Jul 2018 · 407
Notes of Self-Encouragement
When I'm not proud of some of what I have written,
I make myself stay quiet and say,
That you have to write to improve.

When I think "you haven't seen any of my best" (- Marianas Trench, Josh Ramsay),
I tell myself that's okay,
Because I still have the rest of a lifetime
To prove what I'm capable of,
And the only person I need to prove that to:
Is myself.
Jul 2018 · 147
Did I have to make myself sad?
Probably not.
Did I? Yes.
What will I do now?
Go and stare at the lack of attention I haven't been given.
What will I do if someone advises me,
Tells me to be more positive because other people have it worse?
Ignore them.
Because they don't know that they are right,
And with that small fact,
I can make myself still feel a little better.
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