Today is the day
National mental health day
One of the many days I regret

I should speak out
I want to
But my mental illness has me chained
So instead I pull
Pull my way closer
But the chains keep me back

Closer to the truth
Closer to the hesitation

For me, pulling is my release
I read online that the rough ones-
With black bulbs were bad ones
The “wicked witch” ones
So I started

Pulling out my fears,
Doubts,
Insecurities
From my head- one by one

Until I laid there helpless
In a cloud of my mistakes
Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away

Instead, I became more aware
More aware of my failures
For the unknown future that lies in store
One by one

October 23, 2016
I kept the receipts
A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends
She chose me to tell her story to
She was *****
By a guy we all knew and trusted
A “good guy”
I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text
I thanked her for her bravery
For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming
I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two

I don’t know. I may never know.
But what she may not know is that night
She became my one
Someone I knew almost nothing about
I told her my story and asked how she told her first

I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy
Alas you can’t gift strength like that
Oh God, I wish you could
I go back and read those messages all the time trying

I read my TimeHop every day
Sometimes for the memories
But more often than not they bring back the nightmares
I do it for the relief
The streak number tick ticking higher
Counting the days that have gone by
Or the hairs I’ve pulled

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day
Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness?
I will also not be participating.
My mental illness is keeping me from doing so
I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags
My fingers raking through the carpet
Finding that momentary release
The glorious relief lasting a moment
I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more

My family doesn’t know
Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold
I pull discretely
Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches
Yet

I never get my haircut
At least, by a professional
The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth
Not my past coming to haunt me.
She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs
How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt
Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed
Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt
Back in my closeted mind

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open
Would blood run out or the words I meant to say?
When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair
Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections
It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring
I almost give in

What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it
Does the girl sitting in front of me know
One day she may have to get surgery
To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair?
I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture.

Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles
Understand what’s underneath his skin?
I wonder what his blood would say
Would it tell my story?
Would it tell ours?

You tap the lights three times
Because the world around you is dull
And dangerous
And cruel
And the number three is safe
And spontaneous
And comforting
But you look like an idiot tapping the lights three times
And washing your hand five times
And reciting numbers people can not hear clearly under your breath
And they look at you
Like the rare deformity
In the city zoo
Because things that are different
Don't fascinate people like they should
But they scare
And repel
And deflect others
And I can't help but feel alone in a world
Where the tide pushes against me
Trying it’s best to get me out of their vicinity
I don't mean to think over things that are dangerous and scary
And I don't mean to fall into a deep hole of endless sinking
But the words around me are groggy
And thick
Like fog
On a hot humid day
It’s so thick its feels like swimming in quicksand
But I don't know how to swim in quicksand
And the number one rule when caught in quicksand
Is to not panic
Because then you will drown
But no one tells me this when I need to hear it most
And I am the queen of panic
So I struggle
And fight
And flail
Only to fall to an endless doom of deep dark nothing
Where blood is thick like maple syrup
And people are as concealed as concrete
My insides turn into this consistency
Of dog **** and bleach
And it burns my throat
And makes me cry
As I choke on my thoughts
Because by the time I reached the pit of the quicksand
I begin to absorb it
And I then become
The things people call me
When they are most upset with me

There's something that doesn't feel right
When I moved out and told you this was best for me
Or when I didn't say goodbye to my little brother because he was outside playing
are both things I did for logical reasons
But if it was so logical
Why am I laying here alone questioning my reasoning for what I did?
Because now things just don't feel right.

I love cleaning,
I need to clean.
From my hands to the walls,
Lysol, Windex, Disinfectants, Bleach.

Don't ask me why...
Don't say "But everything is already so spotless!"
Because friend, reality is one thing,
My mind is the mess.

What is tired I don't know but I can feel it in my eyes, my brain.
A dream is suppose to make us float in the clouds, but how when they are all nightmares that lead into my daily seems?
What does it feel like to be rejuvenated and bright like the sun, except I have had to much sun or was it the rainy impact that I'm used to?
I say it's OCD, but is it really?
I say it's my anxiety and deny that it's probably depression, but is it really?
This house is filled with spirits, but I promise it's not schizophrenia.
My mind is a rollercoaster travelling at the speed of light, but which is faster?
I say it's OCD, but is it really? Yes since everytime and day I get an intrusive thought to say.
I sound fowl, grey and shady. Please understand I'm tired.
Going to run down in the ground, until my life pleads withe joy. Give me the sip of tea, since then I will feel awake.
Morning is here, the day is bright, the afternoon comes and I'm starting to get a fright, once it is evening and the sun melts beside the moon, I'm tired and afraid at night time for another tea to make me feel free!

Have you ever had a doctor say “I believe you are exaggerating” or, “are you sure it is that bad?”. You reply in a half gone voice taken by days without sleep, astounded by the wall you will to have to climb “I-i-i-i-i don’t k-k-know”. As the words leave my mouth your faith of help crashed. The doctor smiles as if you am fine. As if you will not go home and cry, maybe go to that small metal box you hid in your closet you pretend doesn’t exist. You rattle it and a familiar sound greets you, it begs you to come back, you want to let it back. You know it will sting, sting worse than you remember. All of a sudden you snap back, you are still in the small room that smells like bleach and incense. The doctor closes his file on you, filled with you in black and white. He still has the sickening smile on his face, and says “we will need a follow up six weeks. “You are still off in the distance “numb”