They say the devil don’t judge but I’ve met him and have never felt harsher judgement.

I get lost in my brain more and more often,
Always in the hidden corners with sharp edges.
My mind takes hold and engulfs me,
Tucking me away with it.
Sometimes I scream, other times I comply.
It is not gentle and it is not harsh, it is me.
The only things that will bring me back probably cause even more harm, I think.
Blades bring my mind in focus, sharp and clearer than before.
They cut away what’s overwhelming me even if only for a short while.
Food brings me comfort and a place to land softly, until the guilt sets in of course.
Purging allows me to expel the harsh words and thoughts with force and all at once,
Finding relief until I’m hungry again.
None of these things ever hold and I am once again lost in my mind, losing my mind.
Temporary relief is keeping me sane,
For now.

I was thrown in a hole only armed with a shovel.
They yell and scream at me to find a way out.
What the hell am I supposed to do with the tools I’ve been given other than dig myself even deeper?

Poison girl,
who got in your head,
why are hurting and wishing you were dead.
sickly girl,
why is your head so cruel.
why does it make you hate and follow its rules.
vile girl,
why are you starving yourself.
being thin and dying won’t bring you wealth.
putrid girl,
why don’t you see all that you gave,
you didn’t deserve this pain or such an early grave.

Don’t try to put out my fire,
you have no right.
I know you mean well,
but your feeble buckets won’t save me.

A girl who was familiar with bruises,
shouting and harsh words no longer made her ears ring.
An elementary school girl who learned what it meant when her parents were too drowsy to speak,
borrowing money meant she’d never see it again.
A teenager who knew that her family would not change,
promises were never certain and lies would always be.
A young adult who now continued the abuse on herself,
pain was a constant and always self inflicted.
Can she be blamed for how she was taught to love?
Can you hold her accountable for the ways she learned to protect herself?

Do not blame yourself for her undoing,
You are not at fault for the uneasiness in her brain,
the poison that has seeped into her skull.
You’ve plucked the thorns from her bleeding hands, taken the blades from her skin.
Comforting words have been offered,
Your warm smiles hardly ever returned.
She continues to dwell in a dark place,
Giving you only brief moments of light.
Please do not blame yourself for her undoing,
how can you expect to help someone who does all they can to hide their demons?