Dakota 2h

god traced her fingers down my spine
and said, “my child, you don’t believe
in much of anything these days,
why are you putting your faith
in empty bottles and 2 miligram bars?”

i scratched my nails down my arm
and said, “god, you are just another
voice i hear. how do i know
you’re not the one that tries to kill me?
how do i know that you’re not the one
who whispers about how terrible i am?”

god ran her hands through my hair
and said, “sweetie, i’m god. you have
to trust me, you have to believe
that i love you and can save you.”

i balled my hands into fists
and said, “god, i have stopped
putting my faith in forces
i hear in my ears. i can’t believe
in something that will only
let me wallow in my sickness
because it’s a trial.
my life has been a trial
and i’m going to make it end
if i hear one more goddamn

god vanished and laughed herself to sleep.

xxSarahxx 2d

Let them be, walk around, be noisy
I lie here on the couch
People talk about school & life
My eyes are heavy, my body is aching
I try to relax in the stressful mind

You lie next to me
An arm around my weak body
My safe place, covered up safely
Everyone is going on, so is time
We stand still & I feel loved for a momentum
In your arms

You motivate me, let me see things from a different perspective, when I am too down to see anything but darkness.

Fibro and You
Matt Earl 2d

Falling down the Rabbit hole, where monsters become real
Red pill, Blue pill, any pill to make me feel real

Deeper, darker I fall into depressions pit
No respite, just pools of blood from the wrists I’ve slit

Desperation, no elation as I pray for some release
Situation critical as I struggle to find peace

With death comes freedom and no more pain
My passing proves the monster has been slain

Picking up the pieces
fighting one's corner
meddling red tape
Waiting for a response
Which way will the wind
Marching onward into a new

Tu-re-lu 6d

Here I am, lying on the floor,

I just can't go on like this no more.

From my wounds I'm crippled and weak,

From my pain I start to weep.

I feel the blood draining out of me,

All I want is for the pain to leave.

Let me sleep and never wake,

Save me from my wretched fate.

I should've known all along,

That this battle can't be won.

I've never been a hero, I am only me,

And that was never good enough to be.

But this suffering I shall not keep,

When I close my eyes for the endless sleep.

Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
Each emotion you feel tattooed
to your skin
the seasons wash away like chalk.

Be kind to yourself.
You are braver than you thought.
No longer scared of what lies
beneath your bed
but what awaits when you wake up.

Be kind to yourself.
You are worthy of love.
Only you give permission
for forked tongues
to leave passing words as lasting scars.

Only you can adopt old failures
and stack them as obstacles
upon each new path.
You cannot dictate what will be
only – who you are.

Be kind to yourself.
You are doing enough.
You cannot always be switched on.
Sometimes you have to lay down
and breathe –

it is not greed.
If you are always exhausted
you cannot help anybody.

Be kind to yourself.
You did not grow
from a single cell
born from a dying star
in order to feel so small.

You did not close the door
on friends when you expected
more from them.
Why beat yourself up
for who you were before?

Be kind to yourself.
A faltering dancer who gets up
again and again
draws the loudest applause
at the curtain call.

A person who spent half their life
at war with themselves
knows the value of peace,
the feat of getting out the house;
the measure of good mental health.

Be kind to yourself.
You have come so far.
They say ten thousand hours
is the time it takes
to master an art.

You spent so much longer than that
learning the patterns of your heart.
You can pull at those common threads
that keep you together
even when you are falling apart.

Be kind to yourself.
You are stronger than you thought.
Like Leonard says,
“there’s a crack of light in everything. “
You do not have to be perfect.

You do not have to live in the dark.
Be kind to yourself.
Make sure you get to the end.
Do not worry
how you stumbled at the start.


At this point in my life
I am frightened

I've been out of work
For two months
Because my strength
Just doesn't add up

These attacks that I have;
I could have at any time
So what if I am alone
When the episode hits?
I'll be alone to endure it

I fear going back tomorrow
Because it's been so long
And the progress I've made
Has been so small
But at least I am climbing
That mountain
And not rolling out of control
Towards the bottom

I go to sleep tonight
And I am scared of my future
Or if I will ever truly be able
To lead a normal life

This isn't my choice
But more as a curse
One that sends me to a specialist
One that can and probably will
Hospitalize me

I'm afraid
But I'm going to be strong
I will go back tomorrow
And give it my all
And if I should fail
If I should fall
At least I'll know
It couldn't have been helped

Alisha Shibli Apr 10

I'm tired of people telling me to stay patient
and get through it.

I'm tired of people asking me what is wrong with me.

I'm tired of people asking me what is it that I want.

I'm tired of people asking me how am I doing.

I'm tired of waking up.

I'm tired of surviving.

I'm tired.

The difference between you and me is my nightmares begin when I wake up.

My mind is fighting to end this suffering and my body is pushing to get through one more day.

I know I'm suppose to do a lot of things.

I know I'm suppose to write daily.

I know I'm suppose to read daily.

I know I'm suppose to be social.

I know I'm suppose to smile.

I know I'm suppose to be patient.

I know it all but I can't do it. I can't.
Why don't people understand that I just can't!

That I'm terrified of every living moment.

That I have panic and anxiety attacks.

And trying to get through those attacks while maintaining a decent demeanour consumes all my energy.

To be alone in this fight is difficult.

To die a bit every day is painful.

I can't tell you what is wrong with me.
I DON'T KNOW what is wrong with me!

I cry all day, everyday.

The screams inside me are deafening but my tears are silent.

I see the confidence with which you tell me I'm overreacting.
It saddens me that you can't see what I'm going through.

Things are not good and I don't have the sight to see them get better any time soon...

All I see is darkness.
All I want to do is sleep until it gets better.

My mind and body are at war with me and, this time, I think I'll just let them win.

You once told me how you were captivated with photos, how it fills you with satisfaction capturing a picture perfect portrait of a moment, memory, or even a mere mortal. I almost always never understood this addiction of yours on why and how you’re more than determined to collect snips of your life in a paper inked by dozens and dozens of color to paint a single picture. It is somewhat a kind of a waste but you never thought of it like that.

“What is it with you and photographs?” a question I finally got to ask you after harboring enough courage. Yet you merely answered with a shrug and looked away, away from my prying eyes, away from the echoes of what I just asked you. I was on the verge of giving up on you when you suddenly held my hand tighter than usual. “Because…,” you muttered in between huge gulps of breath. I wrapped my arms around you hoping to shield you from your turmoil. For minutes we sat there, still and not making any sound while I let you hold on to me as if I was your lifeline. Anchored back to the present, you told me, “I’m just scared that’s all.” I waited for you to continue, to go on with what you were saying, but you just did not. I turned to look at you only to find you staring at the far distance, looking lost, gone.

I yanked my hand out of your hold but you were still transfixed far, far away from me, far from this reality. Your stare just did not falter at the slightest even as you told me the words which bugged me for the most of my hours, days, or weeks even. Those times following your passing that is. Yes, you left me. You left me hanging and alone without knowing the reason why you ended your life just like that. I’ve always been blinded by the pretense that you were more that okay amidst it all. Probably it comes with the denial of your loss. But if there’s any consolation, I finally know you aren’t okay at all, now when it’s all a little too later that I should have known.

But now as I lay here, I come to think of the last thing you told me. “If a picture is worth a thousand words, then as to what worth would a million photographs be?”

As I recall you saying it that night, hours before you pulled the trigger over your head, I assumed it was merely rhetorical. I merely thought you were playing Socrates in order to halt me from bombarding you with any more questions. It kept me up all night staring at the ceiling only to receive a phone call at 3:00 A.M. on how you were rushed to the hospital and how the doctors shook their head in the inability to save you.

Until now, I’m still kept awake not of the distraught on your sudden death but because of that question you took me by surprise. I answered nothing then but I am afraid I do know the answer now. You did not capture those sunrises and the blossoming of flowers out of sheer creativity. Instead, it gave you a glimpse of a new beginning that this life failed to give you. You did not capture the candid smiles of random individuals out of a coincidence but because your heart yearns for this kind of happiness to be instilled deep within you. You did not capture the city lights just for the vivid imagination it fueled your satisfaction. It was the colors which brought light to every impending doom you have yet to undergo. You did not capture the landscapes and skyscrapers out of nothing more than an appreciation of abstract art. Rather, it gave you the leeway to live in a fantasy as the surrealism in these photos fuels your unwavering resolve to escape the trap this reality caged you in.

Darling, you weren’t just collecting photographs out of a hobby, out of a custom. And now, I know why you told me you were scared that time I asked you about this obsession of yours. You were scared to find out that your life is a meaningless pit, like a hollow chasm with nothing but a void. In search of yourself, you found fragments of ‘you’ in these ink-stained scraps of print. It was how you defined your existence: in shots of images of the existence of others. Some might not understand, but you are brave and brilliant to this all. Brave for facing all your demons alone, no matter how I would have wanted to save you from your distress, and brilliant for discovering that our lives are merely a collection of lives complementing each other.

So, darling, maybe this is the end of the line for you, the brink of your voyage to obtain a million photographs. And to answer your question, if a picture is worth a thousand words, then a million photographs would be worth a life. These million photographs are all you. These photographs are what make you whole, flawlessly complete. You will realize you always were as opposed to what the world let you believe in. And then maybe, just maybe, as you finally lay to rest, far-off from the tragedy this realm of this cruel dimension, you can be finally be at peace and eventually manage to realize that you lived not just a portfolio of photographs but a masterpiece.


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