I long for the day where I will be able to look at a knife or parallel lines and imagine nothing but their real purpose.
I long for the day where I can't bear to give myself any pain.
I long for the day when I am able to love myself.

I hope that I can reach those days and that I don't give up before then.
I hope that those days are soon.
Because I'm beginning to run out of time,
and i don't think I can make it much longer.

For the people I care for,

I would bleed for you.
If the chance arose and you were in danger,
I would die for you.
But you would not even consider doing that for me.

If you were scared I would hold you.
If you were lost I would find you.
If you were crying I would give you my shoulder.

Even when we're older,
I would do anything for you.
I would bleed for you.
I would hold you.
I would die.
Just because I love you,
Just because you keep me alive.

i just want it all to be over-
the fights, the crying, the endless cycle of explosion
i just want you to love me
to make me not feel broken anymore

i need you to hear me
hear my pain and longing to reach out to you
i need you to understand me
understand my feelings and my desires

i yearn for your attention
i yearn for your praise
i yearn for your affection

i want to move on
to be free of this life

free me from these chains
let me move on and make my own life.

despite what others prefer to believe, all women can be mothers.
but not all mothers can be maternal, I’ve learned this from living with you all these years.

I guess that's the same as saying you weren't hardwired to love me. but I was certainly born to love and need you. I didn't realize this when I was younger, although I wish I did. I wish I understood.

you, in all that you are and all you are not, gave me life. yet I have little happy memories with you. I can't recall a single moment in all these years that we have conversed about anything other than surface-level topics.

sure, you keep me well-fed, bathed, clothed, educated, and all things materialistic. other than that, what else was there?

you are emotionally distant, perpetually detached. you never understood how much I needed to be held, comforted, and heard. you left me hungry and desperate for affection, approval, and validation. all of this, I sought from others.
but their love can only go so far. I need you too.

look at me, Mom, I need a little fixing.
a few others have tried but have failed miserably. they all gave up eventually.
who would even dare waste their youth on someone as hopelessly broken as I am, right?

I keep trying to figure you out. watching movies and reading articles about mothers and daughters who share a strong bond always fill me to the brim with the painful awareness of a deep loss, and the horror that I am alone in this agony.
this was my own personal brand of hell.

what was going through your head when you first held me? were you disappointed that your plans were put on hold because you gave birth to such a needy baby?

am I the cause of all your frustrations? do you look at me and see all the things you couldn't have, all the things wrong in your world?

recently, I remember you said you wanted us to have a more open relationship, something you never had with your mother.
although now that I've thought about it, it makes no sense.
It's almost impossible to justify the idea of you wanting to befriend me, with you being unspeakably critical of me and emotionally distant one day, and then completely out of the blue, disconcertingly affectionate toward me.

I am now suddenly aware that the overbearingly fussy mom act frequently happened in front of an audience.
behind closed doors, you never asked me what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I grew up believing my opinions and emotions were largely irrelevant to you.

there was, and is, no winning with you. I was never smart enough for you, Mom. an 89 is not good enough.
I was never pretty enough for you, either. whenever we went out you told me to put on some makeup. only complimenting my looks when I have a full face of makeup on. the worst part is, for the longest time, I believed you.
I still believe you, sometimes.

mom, for years, you've convinced me I am unworthy of unconditional love and affection, for being unapologetically me.

my relationships, both romantic and platonic, have been a constant roller coaster ride. one moment, my head is spinning from the high of all their love and support, the next minute, I am spiraling into depression, because I feel like I can’t trust them to stick around.
because who would want to stay with a person who is beyond reparation, right?

it always seems like euphoria is less welcome than misery when I'm around you. I flee from romantic relationships when I notice myself becoming attached. I don't even know why, considering the amount of fondness I have for them.

maybe it's self-sabotage? perhaps. what I do know for sure is I don't deserve such a kind, loving soul.
or do I?

do you even realize how crippling it is to constantly wait for the other shoe to drop? I have friends who have been there for me all these years and I, for the life of me, don't trust them enough not to judge me whenever I open up about my problems and this sadness you've inflicted on me.
that is why I suffer in silence.

I feel an obsidian emptiness in my heart and my soul. and you are the one who caused it.
I despise what you've done to me, but even I know I can't hate you forever. I can't keep living my life like this, Mom.
but who do I turn to?

I reckon this terrible affliction is mine, and mine alone. I must stop blaming you now.

I must emancipate myself from all the guilt that well-meaning people direct toward me, for having such strong, contradictory feelings for you. they are oblivious to what it's like to squirm under your distant disapproving gaze, after all.

I must be free of you somehow.
only then I can begin to heal.
only then can I be free.

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.

Is it **** if you don't put up a fight or scream?
But you said stop,
and they didn't.
But you drank...
you were helpless and terrified.

"It was your choice", they say so heartlessly.
It was not.
"You never tried to escape", they say to me with disgust.
Their words destroy me inside.
I stood no chance against them, and I knew it.

Is it **** if you obeyed?
You wanted so badly to run but your body
wouldn't move
frozen with fear you remembered.
"Why didn't you scream then?" Is what they'll say.

I wanted so badly to push them off me
to run away and never come back,
to disconnect from my body,
to die.

I was encouraged so badly to report it,
"It will give you closure",
"You will inspire others",
"People will think you are so strong",
so I did.

But instead of praise I got criticism and disrespect.
I wanted so badly to come out with this ****,
I was told I would be safe,
I was not.

But I reported it, it's my fault they would victim blame.
They would say since they're so successful,
she just wanted attention and money.

They let it slide because after all,
those boys are so young and talented,
why would we want to ruin their lives?
Yet mine is already ruined.

Dear depression,
I was 11 when you forced yourself on me. You never introduced yourself or even asked to be friends, you just took over my life. My happy days were gone, you kept following me around making me feel unwanted.
I did not want you here.
You grew as I grew, creeping into the quiet moments when I thought I was alone. You made me feel like I was nothing. I woke up looking forward to sleeping again - it was my escape. Yet you made my escape so difficult to reach.
I used to be so happy when the sun came out shining on my skin as I ran through the yard and laughed, with no care in the world.
But that laughter turned into tears, the sun into darkness. My heart and soul cries for help as I try to fight you.
You changed me - You keep me in my thoughts.
I'm stuck in a dark empty place that was once my self, but now it's gone. You left me far beneath my tears. You have taken my life away.
Why can't you just be gone already!!! I do not want you here, I never did! You have taken so much, what else do you want from me?!

I don't want you as a friend anymore. I can't take the constant fighting for my life. You ruined me. You ruined my mind, heart, body, and soul. You come back every time but you never leave. When will you leave me? I write sobbing knowing how much you have damaged me. I want you to leave and never come back.

There's not enough room for both of us.
So may the best one win.

Nobody ever taught me how to love myself.
I was never told to love the way my hair falls into light curls,
or the healing scars on my wrists, hips, and mind.
I was never told to love my stomach, my eyes, or my lips.
I was criticized all my life for the size and shape of my body.
Ever since I can remember I was told not to like myself,
to think of myself as nothing,
to always put others first.
I was never the number one priority and I never wanted to trust.
Even at home, I was told by the ones I loved the most that I was not good enough.

This is where the question originated: do the ones I love actually love me?
Maybe it was just an illusion in my mind,
that maybe they really don't.

I pictured my relationships with my family members as I thought they should be.
I thought that because they were family they would automatically
say "I love you",
support me through it all,
respect me,
keep me safe.
But it's not like that.

It took me quite some time to realize that just because you are related by blood,
all of these aren't automatically there.
It took me quite some time to realize that maybe they don't love me,
that if these things are lacking... it is not love.
It took me quite some time to realize that I was wanting the love and attention that all desire,
yet not all receive.

I was taught from a young age not to love myself,
which led to my thought that I was not loved as I grew older.

Maybe if I was taught to love myself then I wouldn't be the wreck I am now.
Maybe I would have more self-respect and wouldn't destroy not only my own body,
but my mind.
Maybe I would have avoided those toxic relationships.
Maybe my first love wouldn't have been able to take advantage of me,
and neither would have the other four boys.
Maybe I wouldn't have ended up in that hospital,
more than once.

Maybe if things were different in the beginning,
I wouldn't be so damaged now.

After a while, everything stops working.
You just have to give it time to die.

Recently I have allowed myself to get worse.
I stopped telling people how I was feeling,
I couldn't stay sober for more than a week,
I relapsed.
I hate myself for so many things that i have done,
I make the worst descisions,
I can't do things right.
I'm getting worse and I dont know how to ask for help.
It's hard, I want people to think I'm strong but Its hurting me.

God, this writing doesn't even make sense I'm so lost.

If I told you that you were the first one of 7
would you care?
If I told you that it took me months to recover,
would you care?
If I told you that I had panic attacks by the wrong touch,
would you care?
If I told you that I have nightmares about that night,
would you care?

No. You wouldn't.
But I hope you at least know that what you did,
I am reminded of every single week.
When somebody says your name,
when they bring up our past,
when I see a picture of you.

You haunt me.
You broke me.
And I am reminded of it too often.

My bedroom is my prison.
I am locked up with high surveillance.
My guards watching my every move,
yet somehow they see nothing.
A place where misconduct is common,
although the boss never sees.
A cold, harsh feeling always present.
Marks on the wall counting the days until i'm free.
My bedroom is my prison.
And there is no escaping until i'm out.

Face first crash,
****** mouth full of gravel,
some say that's how depression hits you.
others say its like a freight train
that collides into them head on,
and smashes them against the tracks,
leaving bits and pieces of them where they don't belong.
face first crash into depression,
so unexpected,
always hurts the most.

You won't believe how many times I have typed "i'm fine" with shaky fingertips and bloodshot eyes.
Too many to count.
I know that situation too well.

The best way to **** yourself?
The answer is simple:
Don't.
Being alive is not the same as living.
I might as well be dead by the way I feel.
Isolate yourself.
Don't speak when you want to the most.
Fake a smile.
most importantly stay alive, but don't live.
That's the best way  to do it.
To stay alive but feel so numb and sad that it slowly kills you all together.

When society asks how you are... what the hell do you tell them?

That you're exhausted,
worn down and numb.
That you know what death feels like.
It is still, calm, and empty.
It is beyond sadness, a cold, nothingness feeling.
That you've lost yourself.
You're looking at your reflection touching the glass,
trying to work out if that really is you staring back.
That if people can be broken, you have shattered every bone.
Dropped every ***** so it cracked just like glass
That you can force your mouth into a smile,
but your eyes are blind, dull, and empty.
The sadness is all you have right now.
Perhaps it will vanish tomorrow, but perhaps it won't.
You've been here before and will be here again.
This cycle is the life you have become used to.
You're sure you will be fine.

You're just a sad and broken person. That's how you are.
But you can't exactly tell society that can you?
So you go about your day with a smile on your face because you have to fake it until you make it.

Tonight is one of those nights.
You know, the ones where you fall apart.
You close the door and numbly lock it.

You stare at your hands for the longest time before finally breaking.
You gasp for breath, silently sobbing about everything all at once.
About everything that is wrong with you and the world.

Then you deal with it the only way you know how.
You take deep, exhausted, shuddered breaths as you quietly cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning you wake up huddled in the corner of your bed, with a sore body and pounding headache.
So you get out of bed just like any other morning.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up wanting people who do not want us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up valuing people who don't give a **** about us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up needing people that do not need us.

7 billion people in this world,
and we end up trusting people that just break us in the end.

I asked her to tell me what she wished for.
"I want to go home," she whispered.
"Isn't this your home?" I asked confused.
She shook her head,
her hand reached out to hold mine gently.

"Home is comfort even when things don't go your way. Home is a place to hide when you're tired of running. Home is a place to be yourself without feeling judged. It's where you feel safe."

"So are you saying you aren't home?"
"Yes, that's exactly what i'm saying," she said, on the verge of tears.

My emotions are so strong they show up on my body.
sad?
i have scars for that.
happy?
the wrinkles in the corner of my eyes.
scared?
my body starts to tremble.
in love?
my eyelashes flutter.
my body expresses my emotions better than my words.
so when i can't say whats going on in my mind, please, i beg you, look at my body.
look at the way i'm nervously twirling my hair, or my hands anxiously shake, or my eyes drift around in the distance in sadness.
my emotions show, you just need to pay attention.

when i get this bad i feel like i'm trapped in a room and i'm running out of  oxygen.
my breathing gets faster and shorter.
the walls close in.
my chest fells like it has 100  pounds on it  forcing my ribs to cave in.
sometimes i feel like this for a second, other times days.
but then there's certain people and they 're like my oxygen .
they help me breathe.
it's hard when they aren't around.
i need them.
they're my oxygen.
i'll die without them

things people taught me:
that the love you have must come at the expense of people around you.
that once you give something, it's yours to take from them.
that being alone is the only safe place.
that being alone is a dangerous thing.
that to feel comfortable with someone you need to assert your dominance.
that you can never feel comfortable.
that marks and bruises mean you care.
that the marks and bruises not only show on my body but in my mind.
that no matter what the situation is my feelings are invalid.
that my bedroom is a safe and private place.
that nothing is really private.
that safety is just an illusion.
that happiness or sadness has more to do with sleep then choice.
that every conflict must be met with loud noises and anger.
that love consists of constant criticism and pain.