I used to be emotional
But then I learned to hate to cry.
I took emotions, cut them down,
And burned the stumps to ash.
I used to know what happy meant
And sad and overwhelmed,
But now it’s all an empty space
Where once emotions played around.
But emptiness, I’ve come to find,
Can be a comfort in itself.
Unless emotions start to grow.
Emotions now are ugly things,
But relics of what once was pure.
They’re twisted, crusty, awful now,
The growth of stumps once burned to ash.
You start getting worse.
But does that stop anything?
You keep going.
You have to, right?
That’s what everyone says.
And if everyone says it
Then it must be true.
“It’s just in your head, right?”
“It’s not that hard to be happy.”
Why should I smile?
I’m not happy about anything.
I’m not here to encourage anyone.
Yeah. It’s in my head.
But because of that my head isn’t on straight.
And guess what?
You’re gonna hate me more if you notice I’m crooked.
It is hard.
I can’t just choose to be happy.
It’s not like I can choose it like a shirt.
I have depression.
So I don’t get to choose happiness.
It’s just that sometimes
I feel less sad and empty.
Mental illnesses hide.
And the person looks fine.
Mental illnesses don’t hide.
You better be prepared for that ****.
Cause it’s not pretty.
It’s a ******* train wreck.
It’s your job to find the salvage.
I’m not gonna lie. You’re alone. People have to stop lying about that ****. Only you know what you’re going through. People can try to understand. People can have similar experiences. But they aren’t you. They never will be. It’s just you. You have to figure out what works. Cause nothing is exactly the same between two people. So if you need help, then get help. But sometimes it won’t get better. Because you are you. But you can get better. It just takes a little effort.
The first six hours weren’t.
But the next 20 were.
I did everything I wanted.
I spent a day with my best friend.
I got some of my favorite foods.
I watched two movies.
I listened to the best music.
I drove for probably 50 miles.
I spent 2 hours and 45 minutes
On the phone with my girlfriend.
I don’t know why
But this day was the best day
That I don’t deserve.
Which is why this day
Is a day I’ll cherish.
The one day nothing went wrong.
The Greeks got it wrong.
They didn’t understand.
Tartarus is not the worst torture.
Those punishments are frustration.
Mine breaks souls.
I’ve never been diagnosed
But I think I’m depressed.
It’s not sadness.
It’s just empty.
It’s a hole that can’t be filled.
Not even by pain.
Do meds help?
Or do they just fog you up enough
That you can’t see the hole?
I don’t know if I need help. But if it won’t help then I don’t want anything to do with it.
I’m gonna be gone for four weeks. Well not exactly four but that doesn’t really matter. Four weeks to make new friends. Four weeks to try new things. Four weeks in somewhere new doing something new. Four weeks I don’t get to use you. No Sticky Bumps. No *** Wax. No new stickers. No waking up early just because I want to go out with you. I think I’ll name you Aaron. Not perfect but you’re pretty close. Close enough to love. Every nose dive. Every bail. I’ll come back. But it’ll be four weeks. I might miss you the most. Probably not but I might. Four weeks. Then I get to go back out in the surf. Three hundred dollars. On a surf board that I didn’t know how to use. Four weeks before I get to make that count.
I want to leave.
Would mom hear?
Why aren’t you there?
Please come back.
Why am I here?
I don’t want to be here.
Why can’t I leave?
What’s stopping me?
What’s stopping me from cutting?
It doesn’t hurt enough.
The silence isn’t loud enough.
The voices aren’t screaming.
Why do I want them to scream at me now?
Don’t I hate them?
I hate the voices.
I want them to scream at me.
I want an excuse.
I want to listen to music.
I want to leave.
Will I come back?
I want you here.
Or me there.
I want you.
But that won’t happen.
What can I do?
I’m a broken record.
I should sleep.
I won’t for long.
I never do.
Do we have waffles?
I want waffles.
I want to be somewhere that isn’t here.
A Disney princess fell from grace.
Or maybe it’s the truer tale.
Aurora Rose the sleeping queen
But this one never wants to sleep.
She’ll sneak outside and run about
And have the cops all chase her.
But that’s her choice which I respect
And maybe that will count a bit.
She made a promise not to cut.
So far she’s doing well for hours.
I think she’s scared of what’ll be.
Instead of cuts I’m pretty sure
She’s getting high some more. Much more.
If I could say I want her clean
I bet I would. But I’m scared now.
I’m trying not to lose a friend
Cause I don’t have enough to spare.
She loves the high, I don’t know if
She’s ever low and I don’t care.
The only meat she seems to like
Is long and hot, not in her mouth.
I hope she doesn’t lose control.
But that’s ironic. I’m the one
Who’d lose control but somehow she
Has found a way to love that part
Of me. I promised her a poem.
And now she has an ode to her.
Gratias tibi ago, Aurorae. Cogito te vertere meam animam.