she enthralled me with her orange hazy glow
that golden yellow singing chorus
made me think last night if I actually saw a rainbow
oh how unfair the broken are.

she broke last night asking me,
"why can't I cry like you?"
I replied, "because you have more breakthroughs
it makes you stronger. I'm just weak."

well, now I'm getting a look into her life
but I don't want to.
get me away.
this hits too close.

i know that when you eat 13 more pills than your body is used to, it will freak out and land up in the ICU where you will fight against yourself to stay alive. and that's no easy ****, i also know that when you did this the first time you were a lot healthier than you are now.

i know that last night i came to the most tragic epiphany ever. when i was a kid, i watched my mom turn herself into a puppet as a hand went across her face, fast, and i would turn my brain off into a different world. and then it became toxic. i began imagining the pretty little 80lb girl slicing her pinkie-wrapped-wide wrist in order to look pretty. and by 5th grade, i developed an eating disorder.

i know that if i wasn't abused, i may have actually stood a chance to make something of myself.

i know that i have an issue with denial around my anxiety and the crippling level of it. i know i'm downplaying. i know i hurt. i know.

i know that if i hadn't fallen in love with trauma and ******-up **** to make me aesthetic and pretty, we'd be in a different place.

when i say
'things will be okay,'
i mean that things will eventually work out
that doesn't mean life is going to become perfect, no
but it does in fact mean that the things you're worrying about
right now
will be okay
they will become memories
and you'll forget about the time you were so stressed for finals you didn't eat for 48 hours
things will be okay
you'll forget about what it was like to turn 17 when you were 18
and you'll never remember your favorite song as a 1st grader
on December 13th
you just won't
and for that
things will be okay

i got really high this morning
and it feels like I cheated on recovery
it feels like I ripped my sobriety from my cold dead high hands
I'm listening to lil peep again
and I feel like I'm actually going bad again
I didn't care for my broken tender wounds yesterday
and I broke down into a beautiful pile of sadness
and there i layed
for a miserable, deadly, slow 5 hours until i
fell into a deep sleep
and i woke up this morning and cheated on recovery

i'm breathing
in and out
out and in
in and out
I'm breathing to resuscitate my lungs
i just came from a date with a panic attack
we freaked out together and
flashed back to good ol'
narcan time.
breathing is hard.
but this is a new time
a new start
to see how long i can go

i hope you travel to lots of places
places you favorably call home
places that make your bones hum in enjoyment
places that ring of heartbreak
places that radiate joy
and sparkle and singe in awe and amazement
I hope you see things on your travels
that restore faith in humanity
that make you scream from rooftops
that make you feel that you're one with life and love
I hope you meet people that make you feel beautiful and raw
I hope you meet others that define heartbreak
I hope you experience sadness
and joy, and rage
along with euphoria and sonder
there is so much out there to see
and smell
and experience
and taste
and hear
I hope you go to concerts that make you
feel so in the moment you can't imagine anything out of this one feeling
I hope you do everything and so much more
I hope you hear new music
and live life.
i hope you live this beautiful mess of a thing we call life.

i'm not sound
i'm not stable
i still feel irrational and anxiet-ied nearly 99% of the time
it doesn't help i've had a seizure and have an MRI scheduled
with IV sedation which includes fentanyl
which i am a recovering addict
so this ****'s ******* S c a r Y
i feel sick to my stomach thinking of it
and it's not for another 23 days
but
i also have an EEG scheduled
and that's scary too
because
anxiety
and
mental health

and so i will sit here
and type out my feelings
while somehow being vaguely manic

breathe dylan
i need you to breathe

dude
you're being stupid
shut the **** up you little *****
you're being irrational
nobody likes an irrational person

therefore
nobody likes you
and you will die alone
everything in your life leading you to this moment is utter ******* and make no sense
so just go do something else
and stop being stupid

but
but but

i found someone who actually
like
likes me for me
and respects me and my brain before my body
and it's beautifully strange but somehow familiarly heartwrenching

i don't like it
i don't like feeling this way

and my brain
working this way

so i will continue to write
until my music or brain thoughts stop
which is a hard question to see which will end first

**** is this really my future?

When the feelings subside...
From the negative self talk to the self-hatred.
From the disordered eating to depression and anxiety.
From trauma to substance abuse.
When all of that and more subsides...

I will listen to "The Only Thing" by Sufjan Stevens. I will lay on my back looking up at the ceiling, debating all that's whole in the world. I will turn my head to see a human looking back at me, as to remind me i'm so much more than myself in a world that beckons to hear me.

When the feelings of
guilt, shame, and self-loathing subside
and the light seems to shine over a trillion clouds
with a small smile from the heavens
-if i were the poet to believe in heaven-

i will draw with my favorite pen
and write a letter to someone i once despised
yet never send it
because **** actual feelings
and **** spending money on stamps

when the feelings of disgust and squirminess
decide to run away,
and i'm left with a black hole of anger

i will simultaneously cry and scream while running away
from everything i once believed
i will block a person or two, feeling utter regret
rant about three more times,
and return to the life i call home.

hi i'm dylan
king of nervous thoughts
today's nervous thought is brought to you by
trauamaticmemories.com
in which we remember the overdose and precipitating events
leading in towards the overdose
and we second guess every good that's happened since then
and so stimulants naturally make dylan paranoid
so you'd think without them, he wouldn't be...
well, it's still emotional withdrawal peak time,
so the paranoia is in full blast
~
so why do i deserve good things?
like, what's so special about the good things i experience?
~
it makes me heartbroken that such a thought
can exist
while being tremendously content
and holding the person i'm falling in love with
~
i feel shame
for having done things
that are in my past
that i have to sit with at night
i keep trying to run away from that,
but it keeps haunting me at night
~
like phantom limb syndrome
i will still feel the addict nerve endings shift and grind
against the proactive, recovery-oriented, lovely nerves,
and it will HURT.
~
i will squirm
cry
hurt
&
crumble
~
but i will rise again
to hold my love
and give her one last kiss on the neck
before turning my nose towards her to acknowledge
"it's time to go to bed"
~
and that is my train of thought
today
at
3:22 pm
on Sunday
March
29th
in 2020

i had kind of a different experience today
with the weedujuanas,
instead of feeling really hyper or really suicidal
i just . . . could breathe
i could sing and feel alive
i could paint and think 'good' things
i could laugh with no remorse or guilt
but. then.
it wore off, and i needed more
so i went to my friends
and sold her some **** so i could get some addy
and man, i wish i wasn't so destructive
otherwise,
none of this would happen.
but
whatever.
life's life
and here i
am
.
.
.

Is where I see truth, honesty, and art
Is not where I believe to be alive for ages
Is where my dreams come to life, and my heart no longer suffer
Is not where overdoses can occur
Is where I can be the closest to death without dying
Is the closest to a functioning real-life adult I can be
With still being the "dysfunctional adult" I am
Is safety and comfort, with fuzzy blankets
and aesthetic lighting
Is why I stay in the dark and hide
Is where cerulean comes to life on the ceiling
Isn't a place to get better, recover, or become soft and gentle
Is where I dream for a kinder, gentler day
that can cuddle my flaws and smooch away
the shame and guilt

really understand
-
what my brain is feeling
or thinking
even emitting
-
i can't really accept
what is actually happening
-
it's like i watch myself have
the consequences
but
i never actually can 'feel' them
-
drugs can **** up a lot
in a short amount of time
and that **** ain't cool
it's a fine and narrow line
-
one moment
you have control on everything
and the next
you get that one hit
or the higher quality
or even your grandma sends some cash
and you get more than you've ever had
and
nothing is ever the same
-
no more thinking
no more feeling
no more theories
no more genuineness
no more identity
-
more dissociation
more depression
more starving
more deadly activities
more ******* around
-
if i became homeless
i'd end up saying bet
if someone shot me tomorrow
i'd die somewhat happy
but nowhere near content
if i lost my mom tomorrow
i'd smoke 4 blunts
and if i killed myself tonight
i'd die proud
-
somehow my life went from
****** grades
trauma and abuse
with a side of physical aggression
and suicide attempt after suicide attempt

to

near death expereinces
fentanyl spiked drugs
coming to appointments high
but don't forget the time i ****** someone to get high
and lastly, trying to die because i cannot find the
means to forget about
all the unimaginable and traumatic
decisions and moments
i've ever wanted to forget
-
please don't let me leave this alive?

i mistake a first date as settling down
a deep conversation for a new best friend
five carrots as my dinner
free ride home for continuous vehicular mobility
i mistake a kiss on the cheek as marriage material
and those glossy, deep blue, swooning eyes
have been mistakenly viewed as
my one and only partner
-
my friend once told me i looked miserable
i thought that meant she cared
little did i know, it was her way of
manipulating a situation to her liking
so she could bring it up as "instability," only two weeks later
-
don't forget the time i let shame and disappointment come over
to hold me in the absence of your wrath
-
i never really realized how many of your lies i believed
and took as truth
when the future and upcoming consequences
proved you to be wrong
-
i thought that mistaking the next door neighbor
for a friend
would mean i'd never be put into a risky situation with him
yet little did i know
he'd end up ***** one night while i was intoxicated
and **** my dysphoria to the point i couldn't see myself
as lovable, compassionate, valid, or kind
-
i thought that by you grabbing my back instead of my *******
meant you just wanted someone close
but the second that strip turned blue
i realized i was just another pawn in the game
-
you were *****, alone, and fearful
i was tired, inebriated, and misguided

I've gotten to a point where
if I stop using
-
I get physically sick
I get emotionally drained
I become suicidal and impulsive
-
but the consequences are glaring in the room down the hall.
-
homelessness
debt
no school/college degree
that'll be rockbottom
-
but wait
I've already gotten so far into the hole
what makes this consequence neighbor different?
-
I sold myself to some random dude
to get drugs
I took a pregnancy test last week
it was positive
-
I broke curfew
I broke my rules
I broke other housing rules
I broke values
-
I guess
don't use.
**** gets bad.
fast.

sometimes words don't
c l i c k
in my head
the same way some others have
c
h
o
I
c
e
s
about which math class you're in.

sometimes my head tells me that I'd be better off alone.
it goes far.
it runs far.
my life feels far.

you tickled me like a sore throat tickles the idea of sickness.
you grabbed my throat like you were grasping for something on the top shelf you couldn't quite reach.
you put yourself inside me as though you were shoving everything into a suitcase after a vacation.
-
do you think that spoke to you?
was that pretty?
did it radiate the constellations you see in your trauma?
-
oh, sweet jesus i hope the **** not.
i hope you were uncomfortable.
i have this insecure faith in the world that you squirmed at the idea of trauma being talked about so aesthetically.
-
when i was assaulted the first four times, i RADIATED hurt, pain, discomfort, and needed the numbness to survive.
-
you shouldn't need numbness to survive pain.
but, it's so understandable.
if you break your leg, you get pain relievers for the break.
if you are in surgery, you get a sedative
you're not expected to stay awake for the pain.
-
so why do we need to be awake for the trauma?

just because i don't fit into your hands
doesn't mean
i don't fit into my own

i think i need to realize something
i'm sad
i'm hurting
things are getting harder
AND
i'm coping
i'm living
i'm alive

that
is
okay

so i guess there's this thing,
it's called a
"trigger"
it's something i viewed for a long time as
an excuse
but now, i'm viewing it as
"oh **** dude you're struggling"
and right now i'm ******* struggling
i'm in pain
i hurt
i'm sad
i'm wanting to leave
and give up
and run
far
far


a

w

a

y

i have an idea.
it's called: growing.
i think i used to write only when i was sick
and then i started getting better and worried i was
getting too good to create
i went through a long grieving process with
my depressed art
i thought i would never pick up a pen again
i thought i would stay sober and flare up free for a while
well, looks like i'm wrong about a lot of things
i started testosterone since i got better
i have a doctor appointment next week in which i will ask about
top surgery, upping my dose, and moving forward
with a name change
i've grown, *******, but i've fallen too.
i've grown so much i lost my roots
but i've grown so much i learned to plant new ones
i learned that sobriety doesn't end when you're ill
it actually begins at that moment you know you are so
much
better
than
that.
and wow kid, you had a birthday.
and you had a good thanksgiving
and you picked up a pen and drew.
and here you are writing ******* word after word afterword.
you're doing it.
and you're going to continue to do it.
i love you.

during the morning i see
a fresh start
new perspectives
the sunrise looking slightly different than yesterday
i see that i will get better today
i see i am okay
i see my life getting better

during the afternoon i see
mistakes
curses
reasons to do xyzabc
i see hate
cruelty
anger
shame

during the night i see
failure
"****-Up" engraved into the mirror
everything and nothing
i see the fact there's new scars
a comedown to face tomorrow
my life didn't get better today.

*and repeat

what to say
what to do
-
i've always viewed poetry as
something to write when sad
or something to do when debating death
maybe even thoughts that are always in my head
-
i never saw it as
something i could do happy
something i can think about when alive
a beautiful passion
-
i want to art
i want to make beautiful words
i want to live my life in the works of art i create
i'm just not quite sure how to do that
-
maybe i let my mental health symptoms act up
maybe i listen to super sad music from the 90's
maybe even go back to drugs and drinking
what about just no television, friends, or work...
like how it was in foster care?

queer.
one who shakes and quivers
with the slightest mention of death
one who has attempted suicide
over ten times
four over drugs
one who adores fuzzy animals (including bunnies)
i write haiku's
i write long poems
i even write stories
my cat and graduation and the joyous things in my life
my room brings back 1,000,000,000 truamatic memories
but
my moms my rock


eighteen is such an overrated age :(

If the streets could talk they’d tell me to come back to them, that I need them, I’m truthfully not “better off without” them.

If I could respond to the streets I’d say I don’t need you. This is my battle and I’m at rock bottom. I can only go up, and as I go up… I will no longer see you because I’m twelve hundred percent sure that I am better off without you. I don’t need to be high to fulfill the darkest parts of my soul. I don’t need to be high to be happy, content, or musically talented. It isn’t aesthetic. It’s not aesthetic. It. Is. Not. Aesthetic.

If the streets could talk they’d say ******* for becoming sober. That’s the worst choice you could’ve made in years. That decision is worse than trying to **** yourself. See the streets would rather see you dead from addiction, as opposed to becoming sober.

Well, ******* for making me want to become sober. ******* for making me want to die. And honestly, ***** you for everything you’ve torn from me. From sending me to jail as a tiny seventeen-year-old to making me off myself a good 4 times just ‘cause I couldn’t find drugs.

The streets would even go as far as to say: “rip everyone off, do bunches of drugs, leave everyone dry around you, and call it a day. Then sleep the high off, and next time you have an appointment, come to it high. #YOLO”

Y’anno what? YOLO is one ******* phrase. I live once, you’re right, Mr.Streets. But I want to be sober the majority of this living. I’m 18 and a half and have so much further to go in life. I want to become an addictions art therapist and I want to be at Zoe and Eden’s weddings. I want so much in life. None of which concerns the streets.

“Don’t listen to that cliche music, says the streets. Y’anno? That Macklemore **** that’s all about becoming clean? Eminem? Nah. None of that. You listen to music that glorifies drugs.” says the streets.

Also, if it takes listening to “Starting Over” by Macklemore 20 times a day and Dave’s Song by Whitney another 30 times a day, I’ll do it. Because at least I’ll be sober. Singing is something that brings me utter joy. As is writing and painting. And in order to do my best. I need to be pretty **** sober.

“No cigarettes do not count as addiction. Want to know what does? Buying pills with your disability checks. Now that ****’s ******* great. ******* for trying to get clean.” the streets say.

Bro. I’m bro-ing to you because we’ve reached that point of nonsense. You don’t get it, do you? I need to not spend my minimal money on drugs. Yes, cigarettes are a drug. I’ll get there with quitting those too. Instead of drugging myself up, I need to dye my hair, watch slam poetry, and sing. Sing. sing. Sing. Sing until my heart is full and complete.

i'll wait.
until all the petals from the flower drop.
until all the raspberries from the plant are eaten.
until summer is over.
i'll wait until then to say the magic words.
143.
i.
love.
you.

one. i graduate in (now) seven days, and i'm happy, scared, stoked and excited.
two. i am not the best writer
three. but it makes me happy and on somedays, it makes me feel alive
four. i'm genderqueer
five. i am a first gen. college student
six. self-harm didn't help. self-harm didn't help. self. harm. didn't. help.
seven. death is a scary, cravable thing
eight. i need to get my **** together
nine. free verse poetry is the best poetry
ten. my loyalty is earned, you don't get that immediately

one. landslide by fleetwood mac is a really good song to listen to when you're sad or upset
two. i struggle with mental health which is, but not limited to, bpd and ptsd
three. john oliver's episode's of 'last week tonight' make me smile on my bad days
four. i am over eighteen and a half years old
five. i graduate june 9th and that means i'm one million percent done with high school
six. yellow is a really good happy color and purple is a really good sad color
seven. jennifer lawrence is really funny and super hot
eight. i apologize to my body for utterly ******* it over
nine. art may be the only thing that keeps me as whole as i am
ten. i know neko case is pretty great, and seeing her live in concert was the best night of my life

1:02 pm.

I can’t.
I can’t do this.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t.
I keep hitting walls.
I keep throwing ****.
And smoking until I throw up.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I continue this episode of painfulness?
Or do I die?
Or do I just sit here and let it pass?

Liar, Liar (Pants on fire)
Escapril day 24
Liar.
You said you did nothing wrong.
Liar.
You said you didn’t deserve it.
Pants.
You said I deserved every form of punishment I got.
On.
You screamed at me, egging me on.
Fire.
Now I’m on fire and borderline expelled.

I am suicidal.
I am angry.
I am experiencing shame.
I am sad.
I am resenting every horrible thing I have ever done.
Lastly, I am manic.


I am sad I hit him.
I am shaming myself because I shouldn’t have done what I did.
I am suicidal because I’ve finally had time to process/realize what I did.
I am angry at him for egging me on.
I am resenting him for blowing me off.
I am having an adverse reaction to a med and experiencing a manic episode.

What do I do?
Who do I ask for help?
Do I go inpatient?
Do I fight this on my own?
What.
Do.
I.
Do.

Yesterday
Yesterday I was suspended and now I don’t know my left from my right
My left is emotional
And my right is emotional
My left represents anger and resentment
My right represents suicidality and sadness
There is no middle.
There is no grey
There is no “This too shall pass”

I could be expelled for hitting a kid, due to the fact it’s my 3rd fight in a year and two months
I could be expelled because I am on contract.
I could be expelled due to the fact it’s a tiny school. Only 60 kids, and 35 on a regular basis.

I have kaleidoscopes for a head
And bombs for lungs
I have a string for the bombs as a heart,
Pulled just right and god knows what’ll happen
I have a blu ray dvd player as feet,
“Clumsy and awkward human walking ahead,” says the sign
The sign is my skin, so everyone knows what they’re getting into
Some would call that baggage
My eyes are purple buttons, not from Coraline, but from the fact I love that color
My soul is the one unknown factor
My soul is the monster that keeps reaching for the string
My soul no one will know what it is made of

Good morning boy.
Good morning coffee, with the reminiscence of your lips kissing me
Good morning cab, that takes me to you
Good morning you.
Good morning walking you to class and holding you close!
Good morning Snapchat, waking me up for texts from you

Good afternoon lunch, where you and your friends play uno
Good afternoon sadness, because I have to wait 2 1/2 hours to see you
Good afternoon the two hours that's passed, so I can hold you close
Good afternoon closeness.

Good night bed, that craves your existence
Good night dog, that I wished we shared together
Good night Snapchat, as the texts disappear overnight
Good night you.

Until Tomorrow.

so, the boy and I are boyfriends now.
It's been 3 days?
It's pretty gay.

hi, i'm dylan,
i'm trans, in love, and listening to music
i'm also v.v happy bc i'm in love.

so this boy, he's a cute boy,
who gives good hugs and has
a really dorky and cute smile
his hair is curly and kinda messy
but y'anno what? i like him a lot

he's smart, kind, and again,
gives ******* amazing hugs
also, he's not a druggie, so
i can add him to my list of good people.
so yeah!

I listen to your problems, which touch soul to heart for years
I still wake up, hearing your laugh
Days later
Weeks later
Months Later
Seeing your smile in your eyes
Seeing your music in your words
Seeing your art through eye/s
I still draw thinking of how elegant your lips would kiss
I still listen to that elegant lofi music, thinking of how you'd cry
I listen to joji thinking about smiling, hugs, and you

You.
Smiling.

You.
Crying.

You.
Loving.



m
e

Dear dad, I love you
I love the love in your laugh
Your awesome autograph
Your perfect paraph
That chafed calf

Dear dad, I hate you
Your tactless tone
I should’ve known
That you would’ve thrown the stone
You’re like a clone
A drone
A stone

Dear dad, you’re complex
Blaming adolescent audrey
Going on a shrieking spree
Then to give me a blackberry
You’re like a broken birdie
A galaxy
My own personal genie

Dear dad, you left me
You left your baby girl
I’m not that baby girl
I’m a boy, one who has curls
Who sings in swirls

Dear dad, why her?
Why your eruptive ex?
She signs your corrosive checks
You’re just as complex

Dear dad, goodbye
I no longer believe in the high
We will never unify
You’re sly
Shy
A bad guy

You finally left our perfect family.
You packed your brown suitcase.
You said goodbye to our house of 5 years.
You drove that Cleatus down the road without looking back.
And where are you now?
With that girlfriend who lives in Minnesota.
You drove away all the way to Minnesota to go live with her.
You’re with her kids while you left your own one back here.
Why them and not me?

That’s a question I ask myself everyday.

Was it my quiet self?
Or my avoidance of the hard stuff?
Could it have been I said I love you too often?
Or was it the fact I loved you with all my heart?

To this day I still don’t know why you left, but I have a guess.

It was for the girlfriend.
The family you’ve always wanted.
The one you didn’t get with me.
It was the fact you had an excuse to run away.

Well thank you for running away, I found myself.

My love for poetry
For books, for art.
I found my feelings, and I found my heart.
I found out I’m male, and found out I love my family.
I found out more than I’ll ever admit to you.

To this day, you still live there.

In Minnesota, in hell.
With my two “siblings”
Siblings enough where we can fight
But not enough where we can call each other a family.

Well dad I have a question.
What is a family?
Is it blood to you?
Or is it living under the same roof?

To this day I will never know.

Good-bye dad.
Goodbye house.
Good-bye farm.
Good-bye siblings.

I fear my father’s hands, due to the fact
You don’t know which day
He’ll give a handshake
And which day he’ll try to strangle you
I fear my mother’s hugs due to shame
I don’t know which day it’s just a hug
And which day it’s a grasp of all that’s left in the world
I fear my cat
Knowing one day she’ll die and one day I’ll say goodbye to the
Only friend who kept me company in teenager-hood world
I fear coffee
For it’s too comfortable
Too much like home
Whispers to me, just another sip
God knows what I would do if I overdosed with coffee in hand
I fear men, funny, because I am one
I fear them because they have landed me in places I don’t want to be in
They have abused, assaulted, and hurt me in ways only god can imagine
I am deathly afraid of separation
I am petrified of marijuana
As it ***** me up more than any other drug
Lastly, I am afraid of myself, emo right?
But I am truly scared of what I am capable of.
What I can do.
What I can’t do.
Etc.

I should’ve been concentrating on reading a book.
But instead I sit here, at a modern day typewriter,
Asking, what do pronouns mean.
What’s the hidden meaning?
Do pronouns contribute to society or take away from society?
Do we as citizens of America understand what it’s really like to not feel comfortable in a said type of pronouns?
Or do we just feel uncomfortable in our own thoughts and use pronouns to cover it up.
Do pronouns cover our darkest, most dangerous, truth-telling secrets...
Or do we just hope and hope and hope that it will?

God, now that I finally understand what gender is to me,
I think I used she/her pronouns to conform,
And they/them pronouns to hide
And finally, he/him pronouns to accept.
To accept who I am.
To accept the “real” me.
To accept that I am different.

Anxiety sips at me because I’m a living example of what not to worry about
If you were to throw a weird microchip in me to see what my thoughts were,
Anxiety would be ****** as **** because god, what does an 18 year old have
That’s worriable?
Depression eats away at me due to the y'anna whole mental illness component
But it eats away at me even more because it knows I’m young and innocent.
I’m young and innocent so therefore it has everything to worry about.
Depression is the worrier in my head.. It worries if I will ever get better.
Why? Because dear god, if I get better I wouldn’t be worthy enough for depression’s deadly grasp.
And trauma, lastly, grips me for dinner. Due to the fact that it’s sad.
Trauma is sad I’m leaving it behind, for once.
Trauma is sad I’m moving on.
Trauma is distraught that I have a chance at not being the traumatized one.
Trauma is the depressed.
Drug abuse, he sat there stalking my every move.
Waiting for me to come home so I could finally be gunned against the wall and die.
And god it couldn’t wait for me to die.
The illness finally caught up.
All the illnesses caught up.
And this was the end.
You see, anxiety, depression, substance abuse, and trauma make me up.
And in themselves, they make each other up.
The depression is the anxiety, the trauma is the depression, etc.

Anxiety sips from me
as though I’m it’s only bird feeder in the area
Depression eats away at me
as though I can only suffice for half of it's needs
And tonight? It’s hungry as it’s ever been.
Trauma kills me
As if it was an eagle looking for roadkill
Me being the roadkill
Drug abuse nailed me in the head waiting to **** me.
Waiting to **** me due to the fact I've been defeated.
So there they sit, all trying to defeat, the defeated me.

Bite me.

Ode to the love I have for myself that I wish would love me back.

I wish you showed up on every day including the ugly ones.
So the sunny days. The cold days. The snowy, winter days.
I wish you loved me back.
I wish we could make love the way I make love to paper and pen.
I wish I could show you the deepest parts of me and you'd comprehend what those meant.

But till then, I can only wait.

When clean from the cutting, the alcohol, negative self-talk, drugs... everything. When after 10 years I finally get one day where I'm numb, I enjoy the **** out of it.

I don't think about my crushes or school work. I don't think about cleaning or showering. Instead, I choose to sit in my room. Play re: Stacks by Bon Iver, lay on my stomach in my cat pajamas, and enjoy coloring, writing, and doing nothing other than what is consuming with love and beauty.

So example. I wrote a story that day. It wasn't for giggles. It wasn't for the word count. It was for the fact I wanted to write. Simple. I wanted to write something beautiful. And I did.

It's this.