Someone once asked me If I was okay.
I can’t remember the context of the question, or the person who asked.
But I can remember how I answered.
Could remember the way my mind thought of thousands of answers.
Could remember wanting to say no.

Heart pleading and begging, just let them in. While my mind told my heart to shut the hell up.  
Can still remember, heart ignoring the mind, screaming tell them.

Tell them how much it hurts to breathe, that every breath you take, is like trying to breathe in the thick black smoke from a fire. Even though theres something still kicking inside you that fights so hard for every little breath.

That your skin itches every time you see a knife because, even though you've never used one on yourself before, you wonder how good it would feel dragged across your skin, painting lines of barley there control with your own blood.

That you can’t lay on your side because sometimes you can hear your heartbeat that way and yours, it irritates you.

That there are two bottles of prescribed pain pills sitting on your nightstand and sometimes you just want to sleep.

That, No, you’re not as strong as you pretend to be and no, you’re not afraid of the monsters in your closet anymore, because the ones inside your head are much worse.

That you’re tired of lying awake at night staring at the ceiling as you remember every little mistake you’ve ever made.

I also remember my minds reminder that its not their burden to bear
I remember the most clearly pulling on the mask, I have spent so many years perfecting over my face, giving my best plastic smile and stating confidently, careful to keep the shake out of my voice,
“Of Course”.

Its almost like drowning,
All I can hear are the voices in my head screaming
"Do it, do it" as I stare at the knife in my hand
and I want to so ******* badly.
I don't know how strong my will is anymore,
or how much longer I'll be able to fight it.

I remember feelings
I remember how much I hated how strong they were
how much of a hold they could get over a person
twisting and pulling you down
until you're on your hands and knees
wanting to shut them off, and sometimes you can
and its all good, until they return
and you crumble and fall.
Nothing good ever comes from feelings
they all cause pain in one form or another
I've come to find its easier to turn them off
because I can
they're like a light switch to me
all under my control
on and off
and on
and off
I mean I can't be suicidal if I can't feel the suicide
*right?

I am a soldier
even in my dreams
fighting against monsters in my memories
I am a soldier
I'm not so strong anymore
fighting against the blade at my wrist
I have won the battle
I am losing the war