There's something...
infinitely beautiful,
dancing, delicately,
on pulled threads,
across nimble fingers:
the cat's cradle,
between emotional agony,
and mental silence.
When every tear, is at last, exhausted...
when your lungs, wheeze, fluidly,
from helpless overexertion,
and, gasping for breath,
you turn your cheek, for air,
your pillow:
now, a man-made lake...
the numbness... suffuses,
your entire being.
Loud suffering, falls silent.
Red-rimmed eyes,
become too swollen,
to examine their own pain.
The nothingness blankets you,
in its warmest embrace.
You become swaddled; baby-soft, again,
yet plated, in auric detachment.
...Nothing, can touch me,
nothing,
can inform, my placid heart,
to beat.
in this moment,
I am free, of its emotional trappings.
its threads, can't pin me;
its pull, can't drag me down.
My lips,
shape a smile,
but it only serves, to show...
that it no longer hurts,
to stretch a wooden bridge,
across the gaping void.
...but even so... it's just a band-aid.
It won't fix, what's broken,
and the blood,
will seep through,
the gauze, again.
The pain, will return;
it'll grow knuckles,
that form fists,
which wield knives.
But, for now...
I lay myself, to rest...
blunted, mummified,
in a buzzing swathe,
of pristine, white.........
silence
...I have BPD, (C)PTSD, and who knows, whatever the **** else.
There are these moments, where, the emotion intensifies to the point I can't bear it, and just when I think it's finally going to **** me, it finally breaks, and I feel a beautiful kind of...nothingness.
...I try to hold onto these periods of numbness, for as long as I can.
...The title, I was just trying to be cute, with.
It's easy to disregard this experience as oversensitivity or weakness, but BPD is widely regarded as one of, if not the most, painful mental illnesses, to live with. I can't stop people from thinking what they want to about this piece, but I've been thinking a lot lately about my patterns, and cycles, and maybe it's worth sharing, maybe other people relate? Idk.
