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Do Not Tell Me “everything will be okay”

I will not feel relief
my inside’s stress tsunamis don’t have an off button
they will catastrophically annihilate anything I believe to be
I wish they didn’t
Oh fairy godmother, Oh yahweh, god, ******* jesus himself
grant me wishes, grant the whole ******* world wishes
because we’re tired
I can’t even imagine the fuel debt of starving african children
or stockholders losing what they haven’t bought yet
when I, a financially privileged and well fed college student
can’t get through 3 hours without trying to prevent
another stress tsunami

Do not tell me everything will be okay
It is not what i want to hear
I want to hear bullets in my head
girls, screaming at the sight of my right arm
gushing niagra falls of blood
I want god to **** my ****
I hope every therapist and so called good friend
can understand these words when i say
Depression will never be okay
Feeling hundred year old brick buildings
crushing upon my chest, my brain
ransacked by rubble
and my heart, an empty sack
will never be okay

I am burnt to a crisp
I am too old for this ****
I can’t seem to catch hold of what’s next
I’m digging in year old treasure chests
to try and help me find a map
to adapt along society’s throng
the one I was born into and will die out of
All of the questions being asked in my college classes
pertain to inner opinions and oppositions
I guess I struggle with this because in philosophy
I learned self-love is the only superpower I have
and I don’t want to talk about finding the balance
between good and bad anymore
my apologies Socrates, you’re the opposite of a bore
but I’ve had enough of this question everything crap
that I cannot even appreciate how simple this class is
In English, I know writing will always be my salvation
but motivation, I lack in motivation
maybe I need my ritalin back
but that’s a question for December
that’s a question in whether I’m human enough
to get up off my ***
and ******* do something
but every time I try to “do” something
I feel like it’s *******.
Oh Haley, that’s just your depression talking!
and my self doubt and hypochondria and my eating disorder
that I’ve been teasing with for months
Recovery is a beautiful fallacy
and honesty is for pages and strangers
My apathy disgusts me and I’m stuck
between an insatiable thirst for the past
and appreciation for the luck I have
words and feelings and actions and thoughts
tend to congeal together with time
my creative spontaneous quick thinking
cost me clock ticking

my age grows larger and I begin to rot
I watch people function domino effect
followed by theories directly speaking
Freud and other teachings

completely speaking
open unrevealing
doors and locks
with rooms crisply burnt
or merely dreaming

White walled rooms
recently inhabiting
night engines, dream catchers
conversations via phone-
the private type in a bedroom
White walled rooms
now emptied by bodies
with strong meaty arms and legs

Quickly gotta move out quickly
gotta respond to this
good morning darling text
next work five and  half hours
running on 80 mg of battery power
I’m always dragging my tail
when I wrote this I was about to leave a house I inhabited for two years with my mom, brother, and two cats.  I had a lot of freedom and I can't sum up my love for this place in a description 1) because it would be too long 2) it would take me too long to use a thesaurus to find the right amount of words said passage would need
3) i'm too lazy for that ****
I do not walk
I drip my legs in front of
one another as one
squeeze of honey
do not touch me
you will smell me
the next time your
mother washes your mouth out with soap
she won’t understand why her baby’s sweet coo’s
taste better with a little crunch
some toast, some granola
I do not form
I merely hold
the jagged pieces
of confusing juice together
call me Elmer
I am flabbergasted, ashamed, and angry after philosophy homework
which straight up flabbergasts myself because I’ve always questioned everything
after reading a selection of Seneca’s letter’s ( ancient spanish philosopher)
Spastic Fury is an understatement
I understand this was written in a different time period
but I have to discuss this **** in class.
**** like why crying is for the weak or
how practicing habits less fortunate
than one is subordinate to
will strengthen thy noble soul for future preparation of fortune/misfortune
blah blah blah
I get all of that **** I understand the validity of living a pure,
un-judgemental, strong willed life.
what I can’t get out of my OCD head
is all of the **** I’ve been through
that was and continues to be detrimental to my sanity
and no it’s not out of vanity you naive ******
it’s called PTSD and it can be debilitating.  
I know this portion of reading is designed for
the average freshman unsoiled mind, free from
trauma and full of promise but I’m not your average person.
I never will be
I remember the times I didn’t want to be a ******* person
and those moments remain anchored right on top of my mangled innocence.  
Seneca claims crying is a form of selfish weakness
I claim crying is stronger than taking a razor to the skin
crying is stronger than puking until you’re dizzy
crying is stronger than getting high until you can’t
remember why you started crying
in the first place
It took me 17 years and disgusting amounts of therapy
to accept my hurricane emotions are not a form of weakness
because everything I feel is a million times more real
than the ******* we hear, see, or talk about
I know tragedy occurs everywhere to anyone
unfortunate enough to be there
but in terms of my salvation
there is an expiration date on
how long I can play in the sand before I’m choking
and gasping “i’m sorry’s” in-between scratchy breaths
I knew college would be hard,
but at least in group therapy
there was actual motivation to speak up
Last night was grass ripping, candy melting disappointment
His eyes have grown cold around his warm (once warm) chocolate eyes
We had an amazing weekend camping in the Catskills together (except for the rain and when he took my phone)
he can’t live without me yet
his shoulders are weighed down, I don’t think he remembers what dancing feels like-
except when we make love
The only (last) smile I’ve seen on him was before/during/after *******
I have spent my whole life making things more difficult for everyone I love
My penguin found it was easier to trap himself in a glacier than to
face the possibility of not catching any fish

I believe him when he says he doesn’t remember his freak outs
his night terrors, when he manically thrashes like venomous wave crashes
I believe him to be drowning
I know how he feels
I am my mother dealing with myself 2-3 years ago
and so before and hereafter
I stopped drowning myself when I saw my loved ones swallowed by the tide
swallowed by my overwhelming sea of depression ( okay it took me a few tries)
but I had support

My love is drowning and I’m afraid I’m going under
which is alright considering I’m with the love of my life
but what about all of my ferocious attempts at trying to stay alive?
All my mother’s strength wasted on carrying a shattered girl
All my brother’s love he shows in funny ways yet
All my brother’s love brings peace into my days

How can I rely on someone when that someone relies on me?
How can I carry the weight of a beautiful boy’s mountainous
How can I not help or be there for the most wonderful man going through
the most terrible sandstorm when I know EXACTLY how that feels
How am I going to continue believing in myself when the luckiest,
most unbelievable circumstance of love doesn’t believe life is worth living?

Depression can be temporary
Depression can be lifelong
How can I watch myself fall off the step
I waled back and forth from until my toes begged me to stop
until my soul begged me to stop

I know of few things to be true
I know of our age and how we’re too old to be this young
I know I have never loved anyone else as much as I love him
I know he thinks he loves me, I believe him
I know we’re meant to be together not in a soulmate way
in a I want to wake up next to his soft face, mahogany eyes and golden smile
for the rest of my life

I know he is having trouble turning on the lights because he;s terrified the bulbs will explode
I know it took me a really (really ******* long) long time to accept myself
and I still have a ing way to go until I actually like myself
I know he’s struggling and I’ve done everything I can do to help him
and nothing at all to help myself
I will always love him
there is too much pounding
aching sadness in my heart
i cannot cry
i cannot stand or speak
i am woven by suffocating
chains restricting my heart from
being able to shine the way
a now dead counselor
told me I was special for
Deb told me to never let my mother
or anyone
try and ***** out my flaming passion for life
she didn’t realize i’ve been the
ashes in my own coffee cup
since first grade, when I didn’t even drink coffee
and again in 9th when I drank a cup every day
and again in 10th when I drank two cups every day
yet still spent every day in bed
but this isn’t about the **** i’ve been through
it’s too complicated and heavy i’ll throw up my klonopin
this is about sadness and the way it incapacitates me
the way I let sadness control me without lifting a finger
by simply being myself
which is the exact thing I’ve always been proud of
which is the exact thing I’ve always been ashamed of
I’m too confused and sad and tired
there is too much pounding
aching sadness in my heart
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