As the cold air of November beings to settle in
I feel the warmth of the happiness I once had
Being drained out of my body.
My eyes feel heavy,
I can't eat again.
My thighs are once again marked
with the expression of my sadness.
empty.
A constant roller coaster
I can't get off of,
for the past five years
I've been going straight down
with small, sharp peaks
of a temporary happiness
that always slips through my hands

Like a butterfly going back to its cocoon
shedding its intricate wings
and wrapping itself in darkness
waiting for the change to be complete
back to the familiar nothingness
that has become so familiar
it feels like home

Maybe it’s the familiarity of what I once

enjoyed or maybe it’s the alcohol

acting as the conduit for this electrifying

relapse down memory lane since one wrong turn had

me at the door step of an addiction that

I long forgot about but I think somehow it’s different

this time, maybe my tolerance level has gone up,

since the buzz

just isn’t as strong

as it used to be.

I thought i was getting better,
But im so far from it.
Constantly having these thoughts running through my head.
I keep having this dream
of what i did when i used to be like this.
Im in the bathroom, where i go to hide from this family
This family that hates me, makes me feel pain
Im sitting on the toilet, ive got my special blue kit
Youd never guess thats where i keep all my secrets.
I pick the newest  blade, the one that'll do the most damage
I put it to my skin and quickly draw down on it
Red liquid comes out and makes me feel alive
So i do another one, another one, until i feel fine.
I wipe up the mess, throw the paper in the toilet, flush it all away so no one will ever find it.
Its not like they've noticed, let alone cared
Pretty much invisible, until someone gets mad
Then they come to me and let it all out
It doesnt phase me, or at least thats how i act
But they dont know what goes on behind the bathroom door,
Where i spill out my emotions and clean them off the floor.
So ill stick with being silent, invisible, unnoticed
Itll only make it easer when im no longer at their service

I knew what I was last year
I was depressed
I was highly suicidal
I self harmed
But now I'm just...broken
Just hobbling through life with a limp leg
All the cuts of war have dried
And the battle field lay vacant with languor
I've made it to the other side by myself with nothing but my hands while the enemies came loaded with amo and chemical warfare
But now that I'm here, there's no oasis
There's no recovery retreat
There's just emptiness
The other side is just a drop off into oblivion
Maybe I haven't recovered.
Maybe this is just another level in the same Hell.

i find myself
s l o w l y
starting to slip back
back to where i was before

The truth about my recovery?
I lied
I told the truth
I was better.
So much better
a different person
truly, really,
not the me that was dying to die a year previous.
for six years the monsters consumed me
It starts so subtle.
She’s skinnier.
‘No I’m on a diet’
‘I’m a size 0’
your best friend skips lunches.
slowly, surely, the monster slips into your head.
your nightmares are living
compulsions start.
too young.
don’t eat in front of people.
one granola bar will get you through practice until home.
and all the comments egging you on.
‘you aren’t skinny enough for that..’
‘but if you eat salad all summer’
Soon you can’t look at yourself.
Soon the Monster of self hatred turns you to more
because the diets aren’t enough
so spring break after a bowl of corn chips
you close the bathroom door
and the porcelain becomes your ally.
friends may know.
but you can be sneaky.
after all, how else would you manage your size?
Eventually it isn’t enough, you want quicker results.
And the monsters of self hatred are eating you up.
you’ve grown now of course.
pushed away friends who knew who wanted you to get help.
Because this Monster, This darkness in your mind,
your only friend.
No more food.
leave crumbs and a buttered kife.
anything eaten, behind the bathroom door.
And very soon
The blades come out to play.
So intriguing how easy it is.
and how simple to hide.
What an easy release.
17 and 110 lbs, covered in scars on her hips.
I did get help.
I went to therapy.
I loved it.
I didn’t just change these acts
I changed myself.
But I wasn’t better, I was anxious
to be done with it
to be set free.
So I stopped going.
when I wasn't totally ready.
I thought I was happy..
But is that why I relapsed?
It was only once.
But is that why I still find myself depressed?
Sometimes suicidal?
Is it my fault?
It’s usually my fault so I can see how it would be.
I lied.
That’s the truth.
And
I
Don’t
Know.
But I do know
this recovery is a continuous fight.
And I just wonder
Where am I now?

what should i be for halloween?

myself: all i need is to lift up my sleeve and show the scars and my costume shall be complete