i take my clothes off. stare at my pale, limp body mocking me in the toothpaste stained mirror. 'your'e okay' 'you're okay' 'you're okay'. my pallid hands turn the shower *** all the way to the left, step back, trace all of the freckles on my body, all four or five of them. i pretend they're melting off like ice-pops. i bring my sticky fingertips to my thighs and i feel the goosebumps rise. i try to smile back at the solemn face staring back at me in the mirror but it feels awkward and achy so i retreat back to a straight mouthed frown that almost screams with bitterness. i have laugh lines that won't ever fade and i don't know whether to revel in this or feel sick because my own body is mocking me.

the steam of the mirror fades my face away and i feel myself dripping. when i was younger, i used to write my crushes names in the fog, but today i wince at the thought of your name surrounding me. i put a towel over my pale body to try to shake you off.

this is the way i die

slowly, shivering, *****.

God's hands will reach down to me, hold me in his arms and rock me gently. i hope i feel something.

i lift my heavy feet into the shower. take a deep breath. i think of drowning every time i catch sight of any sort of water. whenever i see fire, i think of the agony of my charring body shriveling up. death is killing me. when i was younger, my parents told me to be careful of getting my toes stuck in the drain because if so, the firemen will have to  come cut my foot off and see me naked. i shake my head, thinking of the days when grown men seeing me naked was second to getting my foot cut off. i stay clear of the drain anyways. old habits die hard.

i stand under the burning water for too long. my skin begins to redden like a scab that hasn't fully healed yet. i lather enough soap for a month on my body. i scrub deep. i want you to stop finding your way into my wounds and calling the place where skin meets bone, home. i stare at the water draining and remember when home was nothing less then four walls and hugs goodnight. thinking of you spinning down the drain screeching apologies but the voices in my head are much too loud these days.

for a split second, i want you to feel the fear i feel on a daily basis. i want you to stand clear of drains, i want you to feel like a jittery mess before stepping into the shower when you see the water. but i stop. my compassion consumes me once again. i think of you belly laughing in a field of flowers with the love of your life. my mind wanders to your groggy mouth yawning as you wake up.

i step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, let my hair down and i drop to the floor. i don't want to think of you anymore. my body feels weak. loving you has been taxing, grueling, tiresome, painful...loving you has been wonderful.

i get up. get dressed.
this is the way i let you go.

So here we are; human. All skin and bones, organs and muscles. Our parents tell us we can be whatever we want to be. They say, "find yourself." They tell us to love whomever we choose and to love them with whatever we have. They tell us to treat others the way you want to be treated, to thank everyone who opens the door for us.

So here I am-skin and bones, ***** and muscles. I'm traveling through life doing exactly what I was taught to do and that was to be myself. I drive down the street and I sing to the radio. And people laugh-a lot of people laugh. But I love freedom. I love when I can feel the wind in my hair. I love reminding myself that I am still alive. That the people laughing are alive too.

And they are human, and sometimes we forget that. Every step that we take, we are moving along this life and it's so short and so beautiful and sometimes it's terrible. But don't ever forget that you're alive. That the road is always taking us somewhere, even if its a dead end. Because we don't always need pavement to follow our dreams. We don't need signs to tell us how fast we can go, because we're all moving at our own pace. And sometimes the dead end roads lead to the best hiding spots, and your greatest ideas come at red lights, but I never want to stop moving-I never want to turn around and go back. Because the past always looks more wonderful then the present and the future, things start happening. And I was always taught that 'things' is an oatmeal word, but so are a lot of words. And I got this idea to write a poem while I was waiting for a friend and I realized how lucky I am. Because people leave all the time. And she hasn't. Some of us have heard all the '...I'm leaving you' speeches and my heart goes out to the people who didn't receive them. Because leaving should never be done in silence. But when people leave, they stay inside of you forever, whether you like it or not. So you can sit at the red light every morning before work and ponder why they left...or you can just let it go. Because people leave every day and it doesn't make it any easier. But our parents taught us to thank everyone who opens the door for us but this is me sincerely thanking every one of you for closing it behind me.

I've been here a week and I knew that coming here-living alone-was going to be a difficult transition. It wasn't hard for me to leave my hometown. It was quite easy actually. I held a lot of weight there, yet I had no more ties to hold me there. It was my own weight. The place held such disappointing memories and people-and still does.

I do not regret coming here. I have applaud myself for the challenge. Learning to live alone was hard, but this is different. A place where no one knows me and I know nothing of where I am, just what google maps and where my adventurous feet take me. It's new. It's refreshing. It's intimidating.

It has only been a week but I have learned a lot about myself-and people that I left behind. Around the second day I started talking to myself-or screaming at the Xbox controller that keeps SHUTTING OFF WHENEVER IT WANTS. It feels nice not to constantly listen to your thoughts-but your words. I realized how clouded and shallow the majority of my thoughts are. I started saying all the things that really took up space in my head. Hearing the things that haunt you out loud is therapeutic. Writing those things down is relieving. Burning those things is powerful.

I left behind a history with people, people that were once so close to me, people I love and care about still. However it feels excellent now. I am a person here, not a body to look at and fantasize about, not a 'rebel' that didn't go to college,  and not 'Hannah' that you just read in a nasty little tone. I am a person that gets treated with respect from everyone, someone that everyone says hello to.

Though I am happy to be here-I still hurt. It comes in pangs. The dark thoughts that holds a deep place in peoples thoughts are easily brought up when you have no one around to distract you. I have never felt heavier than driving here. Almost as if I was anchored and was just ripping my body apart trying to leave. It wasn't hard, it just hurt. I got to my beautiful cabin and was welcomed with silence-the kind that pierces your ears. My childish cries broke that silence shortly after.
I haven't cried since. Yet, sadness hits me like a train sometimes. My stupid little brain. I feel my father is only contacting me to make sure I'm not dead. I feel the majority of my friends are not contacting me at all. How quickly forgotten. I feel ***** because the water is corrupted with iron that tints my tub orange-this almost made me cry (I get frustrated over small things).

Despite these obstacles, I feel like I'm bettering and growing stronger. I'm facing facts about myself and those I surround myself with. I am starting to lose my phone and not care, not many people can say that. I am growing roots in myself compared to all the things and people that made me feel comfortable and loved. I am slowly understanding how I am the only one that can truly do that. I am getting comfortable with this silence-its better than chaos.

we all know that i'm insane, but these thoughts that drag on in my head like shackles on concrete- they ring loud and i cannot stop grabbing my head in pure agonizing pain. i cannot hear my cries at night because it's just too much. i feel as if i'm going to loose my hair, either from me pulling it out or from fear. what am i afraid of? everything. every move i make, every breath i take- there it is-something so much bigger than i am. it holds me down, strangles me in the depth of my depression. i think it's comfort. i am not strong enough to free myself.

open your mind and breath while writing. let your thoughts wander to places it normally wouldn't. explore your deepest darkest concerns and your highest brightest hopes. highlight them. let the words flow from you. in time it will come easy.

do not fester with bold thoughts on the surface. everything is temporary and what seems so big of a problem, will recede to nothing but a shrug of a shoulder couldn't fix. focus on yourself when writing because your'e the only one listening.

my constant ricochet between happiness and utter sorrow is destroying me. My sadness comes in shades of black; there are no grays to even out the sadness that engulfs me.i cannot find the strength from within to stand on two strong feet and look my depression in the eye and tell her i am not putting up with it today. i involve myself in old habits when my bathroom floor is met as an old friend. i find myself rolled up in a ball at 2 am with only regret and tears in my hands. i let the harsh words roll off my tongue when i see myself in the mirror. the girl standing before me keeps trying to apologize for the mistakes those around her have made. she justifies them as her own fault and she cant keep a straight face when she talks about her own misery. i don't even know who she is. my best friend keeps reminding me that this isn't funny; keeps asking me why i'm laughing. i guess i don't know, there's a certain satisfaction in watching your world crumble and not having the slightest clue how to fix it. so, i sit with the group of guys talking about 'tripping *****' and 'getting so high they felt like they had two layers of skin.' i suppose we all have our own ways of dealing with the ever so faithful lover we call depression and i let myself believe that it hasn't gotten that bad yet. i still wake up everyday and go to work and smile and do all the things that would make my parents proud. because my well-being isn't determined by how much will it takes to put down the razor or how my bed always looks like the most inviting place. i find myself talking to a boy who continues to belittle me, continues to make me feel like only a choice. this is my own fault. i cannot let go of what's hurting me because it's making me feel alive and i realize how weak that makes me sound because my own pain is keeping me alive. my own pain is what helps me get out of bed in the morning. and i drive around all day and my only thought is how i want to lay in my bed and have everyone quiet down. depression has been a faithful lover and i have no idea how i might go about letting her go. so here i am in my dark room worrying about tomorrow and how that boy didn't text me back and i think i'm more messed up than i allow myself to believe these days.

Learning to accept has been and will continue to be the hardest challenge in my life. Change brings discomfort and one will never know what is to come. At nineteen years old I know I know very little. I know how to make someone laugh, I know that I take life for granted frequently (like most humans), I know that I will 'loose' the majority of people I consider myself close to in ten years or less. Most importantly I know that it is okay.
'Loosing' people is a weird term. Even in death we did not loose that person-we know what happened to them-they are not hiding underneath the couch waiting to be found. The people you 'loose' in your life are probably still breathing and laughing and enjoying their lives. For me, that was the hardest part to swallow.
I did not wish harm upon these people I was once so close to. I wished them all the best and continue to. They are amazing people, with huge hearts, and brilliant minds. However, I resented them for a very long time. It was hard for me not to take blame in something that had no blame to be had. It was hard for me not to think there was something wrong with me because I was poorly treated. 'Loosing' people crushed me. For a very long time I was upset and struggled with my mentality. It was very easy for people to walk out on my life and that made it very easy for me to check out as well. I hated that it was easy for them. I hated that they didn't loose me-they got rid of me. I hated that they didn't know how much I really loved them. I hated that it killed me-and they didn't seem to care. I thought I hated them, but my father had always told me hate is a strong word. People come and go-it is life.
With every person I 'loose' in my life-I loose a little bit of who I was. I just recently started to gain back more of who I am and wish to be. I am slowly understanding that change and this pain everyone feels is a part of life. I always knew it-just couldn't understand.
I am getting better. The silence that followed 'loss' forced me to get to know myself. It forced me to get comfortable with what I had-myself. The silence made my thoughts louder so I wrote. I wrote ten letters to the people who hurt me the most and then I wrote their parents. I wrote until I had blisters. Better on paper than in my head. With each word I wrote I felt myself relax, my breath went steady again, I slowly started to feel myself again.
I started writing thank you letters compared to constant unanswered questions. Questions that I now know will never have answers to. I thanked people for helping me by hurting me because they did help me. In more ways then I could ever help myself. They are amazing people who I am very grateful for. They paved paths which still continue to guide me through life. I thanked their parents for raising me practically as their own.
I only sent one letter out. I sent it to people I have known my whole life-who have watched me grow and help me grow too. My words had gone ignored or maybe even thrown out and it hurt. However their stubbornness only helped me learn more. The feeling of doing something right I felt much stronger than denial. I continue to write these letters because I will never be able to truly thank them for helping me learn to accept and become more of who I am. I must constantly remind myself that though change and loss bring discomfort, it brings clarity and understanding as well. And that is only something to be grateful for.