My two best friends,
if only they loved like i love them.

"What's wrong?"
"I'm just tired."
I'm just tired of hating myself to the point of self-destruction.
I'm just tired of being in so much emotional pain that no sobs escape but gasps for air.
I'm just tired of having to hide under hoodies and long pants.
I'm just tired of drawing on myself with metal, losing my inner ink every time.
I'm just tired of not wanting to wake up the next day.
I'm just tired of not being able to sleep.
I'm just tired of the ****** noses and wilting hair.
I'm just tired of the stares and rumors.
I'm just tired of being too weak to stay.
I'm just tired of slow suicide.
" What's wrong?"
"I'm just tired."

I started to settle in
my skin for the
first time as I began
to believe
that these bones
will one day
be a thing of the
past.

But like the dust
that has collected
on my hindered-hopes;
I will brush off
these worries
of a better life,
and use them
as my motivation
for tomorrow.

In this world you're
either the writer
or the reader;
the creator or
the receiver.

And school never worked
out too-well
for me.

I haven’t been sleeping well for over a week…Nightmares, tossing, turning – it comes in waves I can sleep for a few nights – then it starts again. The tossing and turning – I can’t lie on my side because my hips & chest hurt, so I try to lie on my back – but then I feel like something is crushing me and I can’t breathe…and I toss and turn back and forth – for hours.

Sometimes I cry and try to talk to myself, tell myself that it’s okay to cry, that it will pass, and I’ll be okay – I try to forget the pain in my hips and my chest- remind myself where I am, repeat my address...I’m a grown up now. This is my house, and I’m okay.

Sometimes I lie down in the guest room and open the window to feel the cool air on my body and listen to the sounds outside. Other times I lie on the floor in the bathroom, feel the cool tile on my face.

Sometimes I fall asleep but then I wake up, startled, from a dream…sometimes I can remember the dreams, sometimes not. But it’s been a really long week, and I’m really tired. I am sooooo tired. And nothing is working now. I’m so tired. And I can’t sleep.

And the lack of sleep exacerbates everything else. The anxiety, the anger, the panic and fear. And there’s no relief…no help. My problem, I get it – at night when everything happens it’s just me here – by myself. No one else. My problem. My issues…all mine – I own it. Me. No one else’s problem – why bother even talking anymore.

I don't even bother calling DT for help anymore - because really - it doesn't matter. It just "is" and nothing can be done about it. And maybe I'll get a "good" night soon - a night where I actually sleep...a night with no body memories or nightmares, no panic attacks or anxiety, no voices, no SI...and then maybe that will be enough to get through another few nights of hell. Maybe - Maybe not.

Just "riding the waves" as you say, DT - I won't call - I won't ask for an "extra" session or bother you on your weekend off. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. I've ridden the waves for 40 years now! BY MYSELF! Has it gotten any less turbulent? Um, no - so again, I have to ask the question: Why ******* bother? I sure don't have an answer to that question, do you?

And I wish I had the courage to STOP all of it. But I don't today...and even if I had the courage - I don't have the energy.

Smoke dances out of my mouth
and through the cold November air.
A lit cigarette in the dark of night
sparks a flame bright enough for me
to see past my own doubt
for one more night...
Or maybe the smoke reassures it.
I can't breathe cause my lungs are failing me
but I think maybe I deserve it,
I am in love with the reduction in my lung capacity,
in my vision, enhanced by vertigo,
I'll never know what's beyond
the veil of smoke,
wrapping itself around me as if trying to
console me
because it figured out that I'm afraid of
what lives in the dark, afraid of
what lies in the nightmares that I still don't remember.
Walk an empty sidewalk, 2:00 a.m.
Walk back and forth, music blaring
into my ears, let me block out the world
for all it's worth.
I contemplate taking half an hour
and getting a drink with the 2 dollar bills
in my pocket,
but then I notice my fingers are burning.
I look down,
I'm at the filter.
Wrapping my jacket tighter around my torso,
I use the almost-gone cigarette to light another one
and I start walking.
I'm not sure if what I see in front of me
is smoke entirely, or if it's mixed with
whatever breath I have left.