Do you wanna hear a secret?
She says,
I took some pills again,
I sat down on my bed,
She says,
And after about 20 I looked down at my hand,
And asked myself,
What the hell am I doing?


My best friend,
Your blades are double sided,
One cuts you,
One cuts me,
While the reality is,
Just a little blurry,
One night,
When he was extra flirty,
And now your friends say
YOU'RE FAULT.


you must be ambidextrous,
Cuz I can speak for the rest of us,
While your right hand,
Shovels white suicide pills,
Deeper down your throat,
Your left hand,
Raises death,
To my lips.

They say pain,
Is a double edged sword,
And you've been shoving daggers in my mouth since we were nine,
It's about time,
You realized,
Ending your life,




Ends MINE.

You have become an all to familiar presence in my life. From the wave of incompetence that often washes over me as soon as I wake up, to the heavy ache that nuzzles itself beside me as I sleep – you are the unwanted intruders that force themselves into the comfort of my being.  You haunt me with my own thoughts, and use my fears and insecurities against me.  Time and time again you feed me lies by telling me that I am not worthy  - that I am not good enough for success or deserving of love.  Sometimes you even tease me by leaving for a short while, giving me a small glimpse of freedom - only to quickly return with new and more powerful tricks up your sleeve.

Together you are the dichotomy that makes it absolutely impossible to get through even the most remedial of tasks.  Anxiety, you keep me awake at night by preying on my paranoia, causing me to obsess over every stupid mistake I have ever made, and reminding me of all the things that I have not done.  All the while, Depression you cast your cloud upon me by keeping me in bed all day, and telling me that nothing matters anyway.  This unrelenting battle in my mind puts me in a state of frantic melancholy – constantly sending me to the brink of madness.  Learning to understand how to live with you is like learning how to live in a body that is not mine.

You are the wildfire that will stop at nothing to destroy every sign of life within its path, and I am the blackened remnant of a forest.  Gasping for breath in oxygen depleted air – I desperately cling onto the slightest bit of life I can find.  I fight to gain control over this insanity.  I will not let you win.

I will not let you win because you do not get to define how I live.  You seek to **** quietly and without notice but I will no longer sit in silence.  I will speak up, because I am tired of feeling trapped within the confines of my own mind. I am tired of putting on this happy face, and pretending like I am okay.  


But you know what?

It is in those moments where you make me feel helpless that I will continue to push forward and fight, because no matter how tight your grasp, how loud your screams, or how hard your scratches may be, I know that I am growing.  Just like the flowers die in Winter and learn to bloom again with Spring, my soul is learning how to rejuvenate amidst this storm.

It is in those moments when I begin to retreat back into the darkness of isolation, where despite my cries for help, I find familiarity in pushing away those around me -that I will write and I will create. I will expose your haunting thoughts, and the debilitating lies that you feed me because contrary to how you make me feel, I am NOT alone in this.

It is in those moments when I start to feel myself slipping into your fatal complacency, when I feel suffocated by the inner workings of my own brain that I will CHOOSE to be joyful. I will CHOOSE to be inspired rather than to be defeated.  I will CHOOSE to be kind to myself. I will CHOOSE to love on those around me, and I will CHOOSE to put my hope and my identity in my God.  

I know that it won’t be easy, and I know that some days will be harder than others, but it is in this simple declaration where a new page will be turned. This is me reclaiming my body, my mind, and my spirit.  This is me CHOOSING to no longer be a prisoner to you.  This is me beginning to set myself free.

I just have to be honest with you right here, right now, and it’s not going to be nice. Or easy, for that matter.

I hate you.

I hate how you cling to my shoulders, demanding my attention when I’m trying to do normal college girl things. Like when you insist on riding along when I go out with my friends, reminding me every five minutes that you think I’m ugly and worthless. I hate how you cling to my neck, making my entire back and my shoulders physically fatigued. I hate how you read too far into situations, convincing me that people think I’m weird or stupid. I hate it when you tell me to cut my hips because feeling physical pain is better than feeling nothing at all. I hate that you tell me that after I cut, the scars are ugly, so I’d best never do it where people can see them. I hate it when you tell me that I’m weak for giving in, but then convince me to give in yet again. I hate the stress headaches you give me from telling me all of these things. I hate how at the end of the night, you make me think about all of my mistakes during the day, keeping me awake until two. I hate how you suggest I do everyone a favor and just **** myself. I hate how you give me nightmares about my greatest fears becoming a reality. I hate how you sit on my chest in the mornings, making it nearly impossible for me to drag my aching, weary body to the shower to wash your black fingerprints away from my neck.

But let me make this quite clear to you:

You do not own me.

I may be stuck with you, and it may be a daily struggle for me to do normal things, but you do not control my life.

Sometimes I wish other people would understand what it’s like for me. I wish they could see your black, blobby figure hanging on my back. I wish they could see the knots in my shoulders that have your fingerprints all over them.

I wish they didn’t see you as a lie.

You are very real.

Mental illness is something society frowns upon, did you know that? You are the reason that I have to lie and say that I’m ‘just tired’ or I ‘am a little bit sick,’ when my physical appearance portrays my mental turmoil. If I told them the truth about you, I’d be treated as one of two things:

1.      Crazy
Or
2.      A liar.

So I hope you understand my dilemma, Depression. I hope you understand why I resent you so very much. I hope for my sake, and for everyone who cares about me, that you will not break me down to the point of taking my own life.

I hate you, Depression.

But that’s okay, because as long as I hate you…

You don’t own me.


Sincerely,

Sarina Kay Cassell