A rush I used to feel, stress that seemed much too real
On this time I look with nostalgia, but from a rerun I may not salvage
Sleep always escaped me, an hour here and there how great that would be
But my greatest enemy perhaps - loss of control would cause a relapse
On rising I was oft unsure whether my thoughts were pure
Ready to fight, I felt I’d been up all night
My body is white and shakes with terror,
The effects of adrenaline caused by fear, countless times in the first year
My members swing as if to fight, acting as if they’re in fright
In addition to this, my tics are amiss
My vision is foggy and gray; I guess I can see halfway
And the edges seem dim, so in this misty night I remain; this is nothing to disdain
Thoughts which are surely not mine, images race with speedy pace
They clearly have no logic, I wonder if this result is neurologic
Sudden terror I feel, but alone I am and this alarm is not real
My sanity I check, glad I did before I hit the deck
My insides churn and swirl, I almost want to hurl
Soft and tender I am inside, it wants to come out the other side
My limbs I sometimes feel; if not lost, then here and seem unreal
Surely they are not mine; they haven’t felt like this since I had a child’s mind
Perhaps from my body I’ll detach, and float up here holding for a rematch
A chance to process what’s happening down there I guess, this is such a mess
Always on alert, with blind death I will not flirt
You’ll never stand behind me, this is my new reality
I know you’re real, but an orchestra I now sense; your legitimacy is concealed
This weird world appears strange to me, a lot smaller than it used to be
Oft I feel generally ill, I fear that kill me this great general will
A day or two sick they say is normal, but after a year or two this became my normal
They say exercise is good for the heart, but I think palpating like this is not smart
Sitting here still, now at a hundred and fifty – on its final race it may be
In circles I tend to walk, my bearing I’m trying to clock
Wobbly I stand with my head in my hands; I must look like an oddity
My thoughts drifted to life and death, what was more serious than breath?
Life I must content to preserve and defend, what is more basic to comprehend?
More than daily I faced my God, on the brink of death I thought
Powerlessly mortal I always felt, now immortal I tend to feel
Pleasant memories from this time are few; I wonder if I even get déjà vu?
Of this time I have little sense, was this for my defense?
If you wonder what good came of this, look to God without whom I’d be in the abyss
And that’s not all: accepting death repeatedly, to face the enemy I am free
Intensity of this degree I may never enjoy again; to wish for this I feel I am crazy
This is broken, can’t you see? A prisoner who doesn’t want to be set free!
A life filled with adventure took its toll, always testing my heart and soul
On the other side I am now, fighting boredom and that event – but in a way, I feel dead anyhow
I’m addicted to dirty painkillers,
that take away my pain and slowly kill me.
Piece by piece they take away parts of me;
emotions, both good and bad disappear.
All physical touch feels indescribable.
i feel weightless, powerless, but at least I’m painless.
Maybe I’m so tired of the way normal feels
that i risk taking anything that will make me feel otherwise.
Drugs, both uppers and downers, i don’t care anymore.
As long as i don’t feel how i feel when i wake up every morning:
sober, hungover and one day older.
Drugs mixed with anything is a bad combination;
but what's worse is drugs mixed with mental disorder.
You see those drugs then become your medication.
They no longer are for fun and recreation.
With mental instability comes thoughts you can’t escape.
Dark thoughts, not even drugs can take away.
But only make them more realistic and plausible.
Soon the drugs don’t kill you they just encourage
your dark thoughts to take over your mind, body and soul.
Which consume you and slowly began to kill you,
until one morning you wake up to darkness
The seed was planted
On a flight across the Atlantic.
For whatever reason
I became aware
My stomach seemed bigger
My attention turned there.
Coming home from a trip
My clothes had a different fit
I became concerned,
Parts of my brain started to churn.
I want to fix this.
The flower I began to cultivate
Was one of anger and self-hate.
But most of Grade 12 I was busy
I had to perfect my coursework
Sports, clubs and a job made me dizzy.
All the while the flower was there
Slowly it grew,
I began restricting and exercising more
Nobody else knew
I wasn't getting results
But I am a goal oriented girl,
So as soon as life wasn't busy,
My mind really started to swirl.
That flower grew much faster
Sprouted very tall,
I hid my self-hate carefully,
Only realizing its horror once it became Fall
Petals have fallen, but parts of that flower still stand.
I'm trying to cut it down,
To resist helping it grow,
So the real me can be found
And a new flower I can sow
I can't remember
What I did today
Did I talk to you?
What did I say?
My mind is fragmented
I couldn't breath
I thought I was going to die
A foggy memory
Body in pain
A struggle in vain
My mind is fragmented
Not much to see
As I lay there shaking
Please, don't leave me
An empty mind
As the aftermath starts to unfold
Weak and shaking
My body not doing as it's told
My mind is fragmented
Forget to take it once, oops
I hope one day, it won't be goodbye
We are not just order in the disorder;
We are order fighting
for not being
order eating order.
ord er cryi n g
o rde r la ugh in g
or de r l o v i n g
o r der di str ess e d
b yt h e f a c t
a l l
o rd e r
e ven t ual ly
be co m es
di s or d er
there is a girl who wanders. who finds the beauty in all and finds herself in it as well. in every upturned rock and flower picked, a bit of her own is discovered as well, a new color, a smell, another layer of an endless aura. she would pull apart the stems of plants to see the water pour out, and lick the sweet of honeysuckles until she was sick to her stomach. everyone knew her as the girl who wanders, the girl whose head was stuck in the clouds, so much so that she memorized them, counted the blades of grass and watched the dew appear every morning. she was one with nature as it was with her...
until the day she began to wonder.
the facts she once knew of the earth began to turn into questions; into 'how' and 'why's, and the beauty no longer appeared, it now existed. she was searching instead of finding, feeling lost as she reeled through the forest. she thought, "why do the baby birds fall from the trees and never return? who would let such a thing occur?". every turn and twist morphed into something unanswered, her mind became filled with thoughts. it became so full, there were no flowers to grow anymore and nothing new to flourish them. now, when she pulled apart the stem of the plant, she would complain of the stickiness of it, how it contaminated her fingers. she would glare at how the dew dampened her new shoes, how the rocks made scrapes on her feet and the smell of pollen would make her sneeze. she felt grown up, but at the same time, empty (although filled with questions). every day was a repeat of the last, something always new to ruminate over and nothing to give her peace of mind.
nothing was fun anymore.
it all grew a bit too tiring for her.
on some days, the earth would try to remind her, to bring her back to it, but it was always unsuccessful. it would whisper in her ear, "please come back, we miss you..." but the coldness of the wind startled her and she hissed at the way it ruffled up her hair. there was no point, she wasn't the same girl anymore. instead of being filled with wander and discovery, she was bitter and empty. she went through life as if she was on the outside of it, looking in, barely able to reminisce on her old ways, only jealousy and sadness accompanied those thoughts...
ghost thoughts...she would call them. transparent and far away, something she could hardly imagine were real.
she would grow apart from the things she loved, too distracted to look back and rethink her actions. instead she trudged forward, only ever feeling grounded in her sleep.
ever so slowly, her sleep began to feel a bit more permanent. she would sleep and sleep and sleep, hoping that maybe in her dreams, she would find her way back to the forest. she never did.
she would sleep until her eyes became heavy, heavy, heavy, and heavier until she could no longer hold them up. into a deep sleep she tumbled...
and still there the forest did not appear.
My feelings on the world are a complex dichotomy. If I could control the world, my rule would be to control nothing. To give freedom and agency to everyone and let every culture and kind shine as they do and fuck superiority and focus on growth, not domination.
But, not all people aren't as communally minded as that. And though in theory I could change the rules, I can't change people.
In its own way, that's beautiful. The visceral strength and resiliency of humanity fascinates me, with the chaotic undertones that lie beneath every eye. I love the spectrum of pain and brilliance it brings. But it also makes a utopian world of understanding and lack of control impossible to keep people safe; because never will there be a human race that doesn't at least have some people craving absolute control.
I think this dichotomy within myself parallels my standing with humanity very well. There is something on most every end I can find fascinating: free will, selflessness, unpredictability, tenacity. But also I can never seem to be pleased with how humanity could be but never amount to.
Not that it gives me much trouble. I've always kept humanity at an arm's length, choosing books and stories over the flesh-bags in front of my face. The only thing I ever struggled with was not being normal with my human relationships, and trying to make my methods match.
My methods won't match because I might as well be an alien for all I care about directly interacting with humanity.
Yet, I love humanity, in a way. I could write about human transcendence and growth until I die. I am madly in love with human potential. But I don't love humans. I don't love a species that muscle arms its way into dominance and can be arrogant and small-minded. After all we've managed to accomplish, and we're still start wars over skin color and scapegoating? Its laughable, in a way.
I suppose I look at humanity as if I was an alien scientist. I have no way of measuring things or conducting research because I'm foreign, but I can see the greatness in their eyes and am floored by it. Yet I also see the violence in their eyes and am repelled by it. The most tragic, push and pull love of my life has been for this species.
I've learned lately I'm okay with being alien. But its strange to find a foothold in a world where I feel constantly at odds and different.
But I like strange, so I think its what works best.
Between humanity and me, things are complicated. Things are wonderful and painful and all worth the while in its own, fucked way. I suppose all I have is my words and I'll share them, and humanity can listen if it will. I hope it will. I hope it can help people who feel like aliens too, and maybe then being an alien and a human can be easier.
But for those things, we'll just have to see.
My world is no longer colored red
I'm not pulled by a deafening rage.
No longer wishing to be an angel of death,
my dramatic self finally leaves the stage.
Slowly, I gain back control of my mind.
My breathing normalizes.
That part of me is gone, but what's left behind?
Everything has now turned to ashes.
"Will you forgive me?" I say, watery eyes,
face contrived by shame and remorse
you say you do, but your stare, cold like ice,
makes me feel that soon I won't be yours.
"Make sure you don't get too skinny on me again"
Thank you for the reminder
But this illness is not a choice
Sometimes life gets harder
And I start listening to the voice
The voice is always there
A back drop to my life
Never forgets to bash me
Its negative phrases are rife.
I struggle to believe in myself
Believe that I'm enough
That I'm actually succeeding in life
Letting go of control is tough
Perfection and anxiety rule my head
Along with depression
These thinking patterns swirl around
They're the source of my oppression.
In the future I forsee
Sadness and anxiety
I don't want to dwindle
I want to feel more like me.
I must choose recovery.