took double what
the label said;
first time
kinda scary
kinda don't care;
yet appropriate too
he needed to go
away

Can’t feel anything
They drug me so I don’t cut
So I don’t **** myself
Won’t let me drink
Can’t get high
Can’t even **** myself
So instead
I ate... and ate...
Til my stomach hurt
Forcing it down
Feel the carbs increase my heart rate
Tiny bursts of mild pleasure
Turning into gluttonous lethargy
I guess I felt something

The way this medicine makes me feel
It’s my reminder that my heads not right

I don’t think like you do
My thoughts are too fast and come with flames

My anger is swirling in there as well
Raging thoughts of self harm

My little pills dizzy those anxious thoughts
Slow them to a less frenetic speed

Put me to sleep and make me dream of peace

Feeling good
Running around
Catch up on
What’s run into the ground.

So much to do
So far behind
Laundry, yard work
Constantly on the grind.

But fear comes
Banging on my door
Is this real,
Will I plummet to the floor?

Exhausted already
Pushing too hard?
Will I be ok,
Can I let down my guard?

Or is this already
The end of my rope?
I thought I’d healed
And could hold onto hope.

Life is funny
Playing tricks with my mind
I hope to survive
And not become—left behind.

I can’t believe I’m back here.
I genuinely thought I was done with this.
I remember the first night I sat on the floor with a glistening blade in my hand,
I turned it back and forth,
It looked so new and unused
Just like I once did.
But soon it was covered in blood
And slipped from my hand.
I stared at myself in the mirror with tears rolling down my face,
Trying to convince myself there was another way.
Was there really no other option?
There was… one.
I felt bad for mutilating myself.
But honestly,
I’d do it again.
I wish I could.
I know it sounds silly to an outsider.
It sounds dumb and confusing and insane, actually.
Not one person I’ve told has understood.
People say they get it, but if they wouldn’t do it themselves, they do not get it.
These tears come out like acid
But get reabsorbed
And corrode everything inside of me.
This whirlwind of insanity leaves me paralyzed yet running at the speed of light in every direction crashing into everything that has ever hurt me all at once ripping every fragile piece of me to shreds and leaving nothing salvageable to remain.
So,
A different kind of salt water pours out
Crying for my helpless heart
Instead of my hurting heart.
And the stupid thing is,
This isn’t normal at all.
It doesn’t matter if it was a person or a thing or a hope or a dream. It is what it is and the pain is unavoidable!
How do they handle it so well?
Maybe I’m just inadequate in the strength it takes to deal with your own emotions.
Because most people don’t jump to this
Or fantasize about quitting
They **** it up. Move on with life.
Grow. Challenge. Change.
But truth is
I’m so hopeless.
I’m done with school
I’ve given up on the career I thought I wanted
The life I thought I wanted
I don’t want my friends
I don’t want my family
I don’t want my job
I don’t want my city
I don’t want my country
Hell I don’t even want this world sometimes.
I can’t sit here and pretend everything is okay.
Every day I wake up and focus on what's in front of me
But I’m still living with this internal countdown
This clock that won’t reveal its hour
But reminds me it’s just a matter of time
Till the batteries stop moving the hands.
Please
Stop telling me I’m fine.
There seems to only be a certain anecdote
To make the sun stay
But it’s just one bottle
And I guzzled it so fast
I didn’t have any time to enjoy it before it passed.

I really think I need some type of fix.
They know the cure to cancer..
But they won’t let the patients have it.
So they drug ‘em up instead,
If thats the case,
Now it’s my turn.
I’ll need something strong
To fix all the **** wrong in my brain
That nothing else will heal
So hopefully I can make it to another country
Instead of the bottom of the Pacific
Cause I’ll tell ya what
I can’t do it here.
There are no amount of beach days or Sundays or fun things to get me through this now.
So what pill should I take?
The ***** on the shelf is waiting.

I had to cut you off
not from my life
but from the way you use me,
as your drug
your medication
your therapist
your twelve-step program
because your process of healing,
has become your addiction


©L.F.

Your hands are the bandages,
And your look is the antidepressant.

Your words are my therapy,
Your smile is my charity.

Your laugh is my prescription,
Your touch is my injection.

Your stare is my remedy,
Your love is my recovery.

i can’t peer inside my brain to check
whether my neurotransmitters make the long jump
or simply retreat back home.
but the dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion
tell me what i need to know.
i want to live in the moment.
i want to taste joy on my tongue,
not oval-shaped white chalk,
the clinical blandness of a waiting room.
i want the uncontrollable racing of my heart
and the shaking of my hands
to happen when someone gives me butterflies in my stomach,
not when the prescription isn’t strong enough.
$28.35 and a few pitying looks
are not a bad trade-off for all the answers.
or so i thought.
but this plastic bottle holds no answers,
only the capsulated remains of who i failed to be.
maybe i am my own inhibitor.
is there someone who can tell me,
before i swallow the next one down—  
where do i end?
and where do the pills begin?
are my thoughts even mine at all,
anymore?