Baby, please don't do this.
Please don't disappear.
I need your words to keep me breathing and I need you to hold my heart
so that mine can keep beating.
I'm terrified of losing you and letting this depression **** me.
You revive me when I'm 30 feet under,
just say the words I need to hear so I can
breathe again.

They ******.
They went home and ****** because that's what society said was love.
Although she wanted him to love her,
he didn't think she felt that way.
And even though he loved her,
she thought he just wanted her body.
But in reality, they wanted to make love
and thought that ******* was creating it.

Depression ate me alive
while I starved myself
and the demons bled me out
and the words bruised my skin.

Anxiety pushed me to panic
while I clung to the bed posts
and screamed and cried
and wished it would stop.

Death tempted me
like the taste of sadness on my lips
but life coaxed me in to tasting the sun.

When we were in second grade,
I remember you looking at your broad thighs and calling them chubby.
I looked at my narrow thighs and said the same.
My mother told us to stop and that we were both
beautiful.
But we both s-k-i-p-p-e-d lunch that day.

In fifth grade you told me about your newest diet but still didn't run your laps.
I looked at my thighs that didn't t/o/u/c/h and the "excess" skin gathered between my arm and body.
I ran harder and longer and ate less.
But, you still didn't approve of my body.

In sixth grade, you continued your verbal blows to me and kept making me view myself
as worthless, and fat, and ugly.
I was worthless and fat and desperate and ugly.
You turned my eyes against me so that I became your words of hatred.
Only one person still thought I was good enough after you had destroyed me.
Soon the insults became threats and I would hide behind the one boy who still thought I was beautiful
to protect me from the words that had in fact broken my bones and the fists that planned on doing the same.

In a moment of courage, I told you I was done.
I could not take it anymore.
I was suffocated by self hate.
I wrote you a note with far kinder words than you deserved.
I was sorry I said, sorry I wasn't good enough to deal with it anymore.
You decided you too were done and slit your wrist.
Your mom took you to the hospital and you still didn't miss the chance to leave me with your burdens.
5 words, I can't take it anymore.
And you're still alive and I'm still apologizing
for not being strong enough to pick up your burden
and being too weak to take the blows you redirected towards me.

I wonder what your voice sounds like at 4 a.m.
and how you look when you're angry.
I want to know if you keep an umbrella around in the rain
or if you do without.
I wonder how you fold yourself up in the sheets when you're sad or cold.
I want to know what you listen to when you're driving
and when you change the station.

I wonder how often you think of me
and if you see things and wish I was there to see them too.
I want to know what made you fall for me and if you could ever stop.
I wonder what made you believe I was worth it,
when nobody else has ever thought I was.

I refuse to medicate myself in to oblivion
to fight the demons that are in my head.
No chemicals are going to save me,
I will save myself.

I will not become a member of the Prozac nation
or use pills to fix my broken soul.
With God as my witness, I kneel down and swear
on my life that was almost taken by those evil pills,
that I am stronger
I am better
and I will fight alone.

I get mad that you're there
and I'm here
and that you're not here
and I'm not there.
I tell you I miss you and I miss the ocean
and how much I love you;
that is all true.
However...I do not tell you
how scared I am that your presence will leave me
and I will be left with nothing but memories
and the fact that I have loved far too much once again.