waiting for death...

the empty bottle of pills layed on my bedside table,
so much pressure in my head it feels like it's going to explode.
my chest with a pain so indescribable,
my head starting to get foggy,

first few minutes...

laying in the back of my fathers car,
my head in my sisters lap with my face wet from her tears,
rushing to the ER,
everybody terrified yet i was at peace,

i felt like i could finally be free,
from all the pain and heartaches.
I felt relaxed, undisturbed, ready for death.

first few hours...

laying in the hospital bed,
alive.

i stare at the ceiling with a blank expression,
ignoring all doctors, nurses, therapists, and social workers
that try to talk to me or ask questions.
i barely spoke a word.

they inspected my wrists for cuts,
faint scars, unfound fresh cuts on my hips.
this was never addressed or even commented on by my parents.

my sister held my hand constantly,
sat in that chair with no intentions of leaving,
to comfort me.

first day back...
i had not been at school for afew days,
rumors had gone around,
friends who knew how unstable i was had been talking,
people would approach me and ask what happened,
i got weird looks and stares,
i got so many questions.

first week...
i sat in my chair in the classroom in a shocked silence,
i didn't speak a word at school for a whole week.
a blank stare on my face all day,
constantly wishing that i was never brought into that hospital,
wishing they didn't save me.

first month...
i slept so much yet never felt rested
my sister felt like the only person giving me the support and love that i needed,
the only person to text me throughout the day,
the only person to keep me company,
the only person to get me to speak about how i was feeling,
the only person to remind me every single day how much she loved me.

second month...
i hold back my tears in english.
as we watch a movie about a girl that commited suicide.

third month...
i let small things get to me while locked in my room,
feeling so numb that i slit my skin so i can feel something,
so i can see if i'm still alive or not.

fourth month...
i want to give up again

fifth month...
i get prescribed medications for depression


people don't understand what it's like
to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken

to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken

to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
yet every word has been spoken,

slowly becoming immune to my emotions,
with my lungs incapable of letting air out,
with the pain buried within and unable to turn into tears.

to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open.

now...

i am still healing, on my way to recovery
i am reminded of all the pain i've endured through the years
it used to be etched into my body

i regret it yet also embrace it
because i am strong,
and i will survive.

It took me thirteen years to realise
the words in my mind were too deep for my mouth to dig up,
i thought it was easier to open my skin,
and let the truth pour down my arms.

it took me thirteen years to realise
nobody should be allowed to change your thoughts,
or hold pieces of your heart that you don't yet understand.

it took me thirteen years to realise
i will wear these scars forever
i'll carry them through every smile, every kiss, every concerned gaze,
i'll carry them to my grave.

it took me thirteen years to realise
the pain carved into the walls of my castle, etchings on my body,
attempting to die,

are not a story of weakness
but a tale of how i survived.

to those who say suicide is selfish and cutting is pointless,
understand you can never comprehend what they dealt with.

you may say you have it worse than they did,
on deeper levels that **** was well hid.
somethings easy for you may be hardest for others.
it's not easy to leave mothers, fathers, friends, and siblings.

your strength my weakness, your weakness my strength
those who suffer go through many trials of a never ending darkness.
some wear their scars on their sleeves,
others hide it tucked well deep beneath.
help sometimes is not what they really need.

I can assure you this wasn't a selfish and greedy deed,
they loved you so much, more than you will ever know.
sometimes in an ironic way, the better is finally letting go.

whether you believe in afterlife or rather nothing at all
remember the best of times, and for them stand proud and tall.
their presence may no longer reside on our earth,
but forever in our hearts and mindw they shall always remain.

we will never fully understand and comprehend,
but i know we will all reunite in the end.

when I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
years later, she emotionally neglects  me and tells me to stop being so emotional
because I am her punching bag.

when I was eight,
my aunt told me she would always be there.
years later, she hung herself in her living room
breaking her promise.

when I was eleven,
I was told to be social, that everybody is a friend.
years later, I was *****.

When I was sixteen,
this guy said I was beautiful.
weeks later, he trashed me, tormented me
because I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn't want to wind up later on,
learning it the hard way, once again,
that people often don't mean what they say.

I fall in love with the wrong people.
With the guy with a girlfriend,
with the guy that abused me,
with the guy who ***** me.
I  fall in love with men I shouldn't

Because they all listened,
they all made me smile.
They all talked to me like I was special.
They all had "something about them"
because of the way they all looked at me.

Love stories are tragic.
Unjust external force always tears us apart;
our families, timing, school or a ******* excuse.

Nobody talks about a lover giving up
because "I don't love you anymore"
cuts deeper.
The wound of fate no longer leaves you bleeding out
and longing.
Those words slit new veins open from the inside,
fills your lungs, bursts your ego.
Choke on the rejection, die drowning in the loneliness.
Wonder how you'll live without him,
wonder what you could have done.
The blame is on you.

Leaving a lover for your own self being
hurts even worse.

This is the difference between melancholic aching
and soul-shattering, identity questioning
heartbreak.

So don't tell me "I saw it coming"
when the next guy I love
manipulates me or cheats.
I already know.
I choose to fall in love with men
who will destroy themselves,
or be taken but never leave.

As the rain pelts my skin
I try to forget about what you all did
As your foreign hands invaded my body
I regret ever going to that "party"

My friend said it would be fun
That I had nothing to lose
But everything changed
when she left me
with you guys

Your eyes glowed so self-assured
Smiles perfectly polished
Your intentions seemed friendly
But you were all there to demolish

How many girls before me
have fallen into this trap?
Or is it me who will be
alone on this path

Maybe someday you will all have daughters of your own
And get the call saying, "Daddy I can't come home"
Because she is mortified by a choice she didn't make
But was never educated to know it was called ****

For months I have felt broken and battered
I have wallowed in self-pitty
You have all affected every single aspect of my life
Left me with no words
A feeling of constant numbness and anger
I don't know what to do

I feel ruined.

I own a good chin to lift,
a look that threatens from a distance.
Yet the shield I pretend to put on is rusty, shattered, almost broken.

So I walk out, shield up,
and yet
I shiver if i only get a hint of a scent,
reminding me of someone who ****** me without permission.

Sometimes, I forget the amount of my anger
But, if it bares meaning,
I understand it.
Not only mine, but the anger of many women,
who woke up in someone's bed
and left there smelling of a body they didn't choose to smell of.

Don't tell me I should've said "No".
Because sometimes the mouth doesn't listen to the body,
body doesn't listen to the brain,
the brain is not aware of that.

months later you'll be sobbing with the realization that
you're afraid of the man you trust most of all,
your own father,
only because he produces testosterone.

Months ago, it happened too fast.
I didn't say "No".
They didn't give me time to do it.

As I was leaving, eyes clenched to my feet,
hands clenched into fists,
words clenched into my mouth,
I let him hug me as he was trying to make it all seem acceptable.

**** all of you.
I will never be the same.
I will never be able to forget.