i pick at my skin it a desperate attempt to pull the anxiety out. if it could ooze out every pore and tear, maybe i wouldn’t be shaking, fueled with the rage and fear panic attacks hold.
i pick at my body to rip at the insecurity. scars are a sign of my fragile self image, makeup is the mask i use to forget. a thick black line tracing my eyelids; a heavy layer of powder masking the blushing of my cheeks.
i pick at my mind to understand what this diagnosis means to me. i pick and i pick and pick at every idea and thought of this hell the universe has placed me in. i tear and rip at them until my mind is as numb as my skin. i pick until i can pretend i can understand.
i'm always bleeding last night i was in bed waiting for a text that will probably never come and my mouth was filling with blood over and over it was all i could taste i couldn't remember biting i have sores in my mouth from nervous chewing but they weren't as bad as usual but suddenly my mouth was bleeding and i keep doing this and i don't know why and my psychiatrist said it's just social anxiety that's all it is she told me i don't think you're psychotic i can't remember a couple months ago i had bruises on my arms i couldn't remember my mouth kept filling up with blood my finger is bleeding i bite my nails too much i used an x-acto knife there was something on my nail i had to get it off i had to dig it out of my skin around my nail it keeps bleeding my hands are cold so i hold them together and i keep unfolding my hands to find blood on my palms he doesn't care about the scars on my thighs and my stomach i've always been terrified that whoever i was with would see the scars and think i was crazy unstable and not worth the chaos i feel guilty i feel bad for my roommate she shouldn't have to live with someone with all these issues
downtown is a much newer scene than even i thought it’d be - i was prepared to be a novice. i was prepared to be out of place. and this was nothing, i could handle these old odd eyes, i just wasn’t ready to feel so dropped in.
but i’d drawn a diagram of this situation, a different specific
(*******. i can’t hear myself think)
why am i surprised to feel so dropped in when i’ve drawn it? drawn upon it?
why am i surprised that a new brand new situation feels just the same as the new situations of before, when i’ve had so many that i can picture the the sensation of my brain?
i’ve made a series of green lines on a yellow, lined piece of paper.
i’ve meant to take it to my shrink for months. once, i had it in my purse and my guts, when i entered, decided to shrink.
i said i was fine, and the same, and i started to drop the pills that stole my sleep onto the streets.
it’s helped, and i’m surprised. and my brain feels more awake than any other time in the past three years… so.
I feel like a Polaroid picture of myself I feel like I’m a fading still image of a person from the past
I feel like there’s pieces missing to my puzzle I feel like wholeness will never be an option
I feel like the Blues Clues dinner plate that was broken In the midst of a fight between my parents I feel like I’m still crying at the kitchen table Quietly, so they won’t notice
I feel like I’m standing outside a circle And I feel like even if I were let it I would push my way out
I feel like I’m reading the same sentence Over and over without it registering I feel like I’m reading a whole book Just to start it time and time again
I feel like these books don’t make sense anyway I feel like there’s pages ripped out I feel like there’s chapters pasted in where they don’t belong I feel like some of them are written in dead languages I feel like I’m not meant to understand
I feel like an active volcano under the sea I feel so much fire inside of my body It spews out into ocean waters And remains unseen I am the only one Who will feel my heat
I can’t hear anymore Tilted head Question mark eyes Looking at lips Meeting and parting Looking at teeth Waxing and waning Peaking in and out Behind pink curtains Wondering why I can see the words With my eyes Bubble letters You spat out Unceremonious They fell on the ground Alphabet soup You’ve spewed from your mouth Scrambled egg syllables Writhing around Garbled rhetoric shaken through air Rattled right past me as though I’m not there Catapulting through my ears Sound waves echo but I do not hear I see through empty words I see you and choose to leave you unheard I see actions that speak so loud That the ******* spewing from your mouth Is completely drowned out By the righteous sound Of a page flipped Of a chapter ripped Straight from binding Of the book you were writing Of the knots you were tying Or the roots you were growing My home is not with you Sanctuary is knowing The distance between me and you Will forever stay as true As the core values I hold myself to We all have lapses In our virtue But our character is The way we react to Each mistake we make And you choosing to feign Ignorance and deflect blame Shows me your resistance to change Is something that I will not take Along with me as I make A life for myself I do not hate I am not perfect but I never said I was I’ve been accountable for when I’ve ****** up As for you, you have chosen to run It’s been so long since you’ve looked back I wonder if you still remember what it’s from
I don’t write much these days, but when I do it doesn’t make much sense to me.