I let my breath go
Please don’t let me be a statistic
I cry into my mothers arms, the first time I told her of my abuse.
I refuse.
I will not let someone else feel what I have felt.
They shouldn’t have to understand what it’s like.
I hold my breath
I hate it
I hate that I can’t be touched
I can’t even hug someone without feeling like I might throw-up.
I hate that I can’t sleep alone in the dark.
“You’re still afraid of the dark?” “Aren’t you a little old for that?” “Nothing is going to hurt you”
That won’t stop the nightmares
The memories that won’t ever go to rest.
It won’t stop him
He makes appearances throughout the night.
He’s hiding in my closet, outside my door.
I know he’s not there but still I can’t sleep.
I can hardly even breathe.
This fire that burns far to close to me,
It is burning in my basement, in the bathroom, in his bedroom.
There isn’t a lot that I remember
I won’t say I wish I could
Missing pieces, blank pages, things that don’t make sense
And now I’m left in tatters, cracked, alone and afraid.
Scars that you can’t see, hurt I try to hide.
My blood is screaming and no one seems to notice.
This can’t be all there is,
I’m missing something,
Or do I have something I shouldn’t?
A brothers love, is that what I was?
Mom do you remember what I told you
Did you understand the words I said?
Or did you ignore it because your first born is perfect,
He gets a second chance
And a third and a fourth
And all I get is “How do you know?”
You say you believe me but I know that you don’t
Because if you’d’ve believed me than you’d’ve had to admit that your family wasn’t perfect.
Is it perfect now?
Dad do you remember our talk in the garage?
Do you remember saying that this happens all the time,
And that it shouldn’t.
But you only meant it shouldn’t happen here,
In your perfect house where all of your kids are perfect,
Almost.
Perfect, what you’ve convinced me I have to be,
Because when I’m not perfect dad gets mad
And when dad is mad, him and mom fight.
Screaming and slamming doors,
Forgetting their little girl who cries if anyone yells.
Forgetting their little girl who questions why people look at her the way they do,
Forgetting their little girl who is afraid of being touched
Because even though she can’t remember everything she knows,
She knows it happened.
Four years old it started,
Five years old, did it stop?
Eleven years old, she started remembering,
Twelve years old, wishing she couldn’t,
Thirteen years old, telling them,
Fourteen years old, being told she was wrong,
Fifteen years old, still having to convince everyone that even though she didn’t remember everything that it still happened,
Fifteen, having him move back into the house,
Fifteen, locking the bedroom door, locking the bathroom door and still being afraid to take her clothes off, still not wanting to take a shower because all of the memories and all of the truths and all of the things she’d been running from won’t go away.
All of my memories and everything I tried to forget won’t go away,
It won’t go away until the day i’m in the ground,
It won’t go away until I don’t wake up at two in the morning crying because I was remembering again,
Until the day I’m not afraid,
Until the day someone believes me.
I was supposed to be normal
My family was supposed to be normal
But it’s not, I’m not.
And I still can’t breathe.

You. I want to paint you. I want your beauty on the tip of my brush, smeared across a canvas so I can see down to your thinnest layer, not just the clump that you were on the bristles. You're a mess. You are oils and colors mixed together on a bumpy sheet, taking forever to dry. People get tired of watching you and they leave. You blame yourself for not drying fast enough, for not having interesting colors, for the bubbles and patches in your paint. I'll stay here and watch you. You are taking forever to dry, but my heart skips a beat every time you catch the light. I lose my breath every time a bit of you falls from the canvas and onto the floor. I tear up when gravity mixes your colors, creating purples and browns and greens. You may mix and change and smear before you dry, and I want to see how beautiful you are when you do.

The world outside today seemed to be too much for me
the walls keep closing in, i can’t find the room to breathe
i’m left there alone
hollow eyes and aching bones
i’ve laid dormant from dawn
to dusk but now i see the sun
night is gone, another day done
as i lay locked on the bedroom floor
my shoulder blades press into my thin rug
protruding vertebrae finding wood below
the rain smell hanging from poisoned oaks
gray skies hover
endless cloud cover
all pinning me down
these days all I can do is suffer

but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay

the sun, the trees the summer breeze
they nudge me saying please
it’s been three days since you’ve eaten, Louise
you’re nothing but fuzzy brain weak knees
get up, just get some coffee
but I remain paralyzed
glass eyes towards skys learning
pattern of ceiling fan turning
whirring and churning
all the heavy humidity away
but my skin will not evaporate
no matter how much i will it to dissipate
i hate to have my body stay
while my mind starts to disintegrate


but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay

light leaks in from the swayingcurtain
the storm is passed, weatherman’s certain
and though the sun cuts the grey asunder
in my mind there still lies thunder
my cobwebbed lungs refuse to work
as the heavy thoughts continue to lurk
but breaking through murky background
i hear sparrows start a symphony sound
and with their rounds and rounds of chords  
their song did rise more and more
and my eyes came into focus  
loosing that notion of hopeless
i started to feel almost human
only songbirds’ tunes to pull me in
closer and closer to some reality
through blinding light i start to see
the pinewood  outside begins to dry
my rusty heart decides to try
I reach my head out the window
with eyes shut, panes clutched
i drink the sun’s glow
with all i have,  my ribs force a heave
and i find that,  finally I can breathe

but the birds outside my window
in a chorus they say
you don’t have to fear today
But the birds outside my window
they sing me awake
it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay

Every moment, minute or day,
we spend our waking life breathing in life
enjoying memories and cherished people around
making love and making laughs

the sweet sweet breeze, and the peach colored skies
All of it so sweet it makes our teeth hurt thinking of it
like so many photographs and records we shared
All of it in a single breath and a blink of an eye

Isn't it fun and happy?
Isn't it so perfect and so simple?
Isn't it what we wanted to all have?
Isn't it what we long for and did have?

Until we turn dark, and all the colors turn grey
until we see what we were and see what we are now
Until we crumble in each and every word we hear
until we succumb to the arms of Depression itself

Until we grab that **** bag and stuck our puny heads in
Until we reach for that medicine cabinet for the pills we need
Until we take some drugs and ease our pains
Until we reach the moment darkest in our darkest days

Breathe child, my momma would say
breathe it all out and breathe it all in again
I keep breathing and breathing and breathing
until it becomes a routine that my muscles have mastered

Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in
Breathe out the bad thoughts
Breathe it back in

Day by day, it cycles, an endless horror show
Night by night my hands tingle like shaking jello
I can't seem to remember what my momma told me
Help! somebody please, help me breathe

The relentless hands of anxiety and depression
The unforgiving laughs of insomnia and ADD
the same sh*t that I go through, night after night
Caging me in like a tiger  in a circus show

Until we see the calm and grasp it like a baby holding a rattle
Ever so tight, yet ever so clumsy
The light shines and we see clearly
What we have become and start breathing in rhythm

My lungs fill with air every time I breathe
Yes, but as I fill my chest with life...
When I exhale, am I breathing out my life?
So tell me, Am I both living and dying with every breath?

Am I already dead but my body denies it?
Am I a walking corpse living in an empty shell?
Am I a machine destined to be one so lonely, so shattered
That I cannot anymore---I cannot anymore, breathe.

My thighs have
Known scars  
They have known how to close in fast like a threatened house when thieves are sitting in my bushes waiting for the door to open so they can fire a gun at my esteem  
And take away all the love I have spent endless years collecting for myself; they have known to close and shrink when they are too much
when it seems like no one wants to come in  
But my thighs have also known courage  
My thighs  
Stretch outward
My imagination
Jiggles when I run after my train of thoughts
I  
Have always been the elephant in the dressing room
My thoughts popping out from the sides of the curtains there
Is nowhere to go.  
I look at myself in mirrors that cannot fit my whole body they reflect only what is  
Seen by the naked eye  
On the outside I am fully dressed up for shame
Inside of me is a Greek figure
I  
do not want to tell my story like this.  
I hear: big is beautiful but so is small but so is "normal" I ask them what is
Normal give me two minds that speak of a same definition when  
Have we never been programmed to give the same answers like regurgitating lessons in biology only speaking compliments that sound like cold hard facts  
You are beautiful you look nice you make me look so bad your figure is so curvy and attractive your legs aren't too fat come on why would you buy this if it does not suit you why don't you go to the gym anymore why don't you talk about your weight loss story  
Why don't you figure out a way to love each other outside of way too much flesh way too much bone way too much of  
This.  
I know,  
I know what I am what I am not what I wish to be what I know I should not wish to be but the idea of changing myself runs in my mind more than I run or I grip at my sides at my scars, more than I skip meals I skip a beat at the thought of you seeing me in my underwear I skip through dieting techniques in magazines
And instead  
I flip to the gardening section {IN THIS ISSUE; YOUR OWN VEGETABLE MINI GARDEN}  
I flip my hair to wash my face in the morning
I flip the middle aged man off catcalling me when
I am walking in the streets I flip coins to choose which book I am reading next  
I flip to the next page in my life; yesterday you are no longer needed
I will rest in my bed tonight
Instead I move to the easel and paint myself;
I paint myself as I am; not negative space.
I fill the easel and by the end I have run out of paint but this is what happens when you try to paint a reality things empty out when you try to correct it every time you look in the mirror your heart does not seem to understand that it has run out of blood by the time it has tried to tell your story in the most sugar coated way it can;  
Heart,  
I do not blame you.  
Sometimes I am lost as well  
But in this unwanted balancing act of love and hate my body feels dizzy my consciousness is begging me: "Pamela, stop" I stopped, I listened.  
As I was running on the treadmill as I ran away from the party because there was food as I run past a sign and don't notice it; it was telling me to stop as well.  
Because in our marathon through life in our rush to get to the other side of our mentality that says: "Welcome! You have achieved body positivity and can now be mentally stable"  
We have forgotten there is always a bridge we must cross, one we always try to shortcut our way around and where we end up falling face-first into the water most;  I believe
In the linear motion of time; I wished I knew how to turn back time though and stop myself from being born into a world where I am labelled the second I am pushed out of my mother's body,  But I believe
In the linear motion of time but also in the linear motion of learning how to love this heavy body of mine.  
In the way that I carry its burden on my back I see that there is always something in the equation of body love I have overlooked, something that makes the mathematics of confidence add up
I see that before the negative numbers go in ascending order they stop at   
Zero.  
Before we can go from body hate to body love I had to make one stop at Zero.  
The words blowing through its empty circle there is a neutral place for you before you carry on, a "no man's land" in the battle against the voices in your head, a safe zone from this battle ground.  
  
Zero comes to me when I am shaking from the rain and tells me: "you've come a long way, baby", tells me I do not need to be this or that, that I can just be, in the utmost simplicity.  Tells me I am what I am and that is fine to be.  

Zero: maybe I do not want to be neutral. Maybe I do not want to be zero on the scale in my space, neutral in my life. But I walked and I saw that zero was light and burdenless.  I walk.
I stop.
I may not be home, but the way there isn’t so bad.

I've tried
How I've tried
You pretend to know me,
Think you can see through every little lie,
Every little insignificant detail I provided about myself,
Who I was,
How I was

I try
I open my mouth but the words I wanna say
Get stuck
Probably behind these ****-ugly buck teeth of mine
So large as to block and distort
What I wanna say

I tried explaining
But once again the words evade me
Leaving me tongue tied, helpless, blind
OH HOW I'VE TRIED!
Like when I promised I wouldn't cut again
And the next day
I did it anyway
I was guilty as **** but...

I tried explaining
I tried to tell you I had an addiction,
The cigarette of the steel
The LSD of that smooth handle
The speed of that burning sensation in my arm
As it opens up to someone who can't stop himself
He's shaking as he does it, silent, words evade him
Screams evade him
And so too do friends when he fails to say
He TRIED!

You don't think he suffers enough?
You don't think keeping this promise is tough?
My mind is saying NO but only the part I control
And it's a scientific fact that you control
Only a small portion of your brain
It's not always in control
It's no override
It's no easy way out
IT'S NOT EASY

The words he wants to scream
The words he wants to shout
People look at him, disappointed when he says
What he has done,
The sin that is bad habit
Like he can ******* CHOOSE
To be depressed at this ****-awful WORLD
That constantly SUPPRESSES him,
Kicks him into the gutter
And proceeds to STOMP HIM
INTO THE MOTHER ******* DIRT
LAUGHING
MOCKING
TELLING HIM HE'S WORTHLESS
SO HE HEARS IT IN EVERY TINY LITTLE MISTAKE HE MAKES
"Oh, you didn't do this right" translates to
"YOU'RE NOT RIGHT! YOU'RE WRONG! SO ******* WRONG!"
"Can you please do this again" becomes
"YOU ****** UP MAJOR, SON, AND I'M DISAPPOINTED!"

If there's one thing I hate it's causing disappointment
If there's one thing I hate it's frowns
It's anger
It's hostility when all I ever tried to do
WAS TO MAKE YOU ******* SMILE!

I told you I tried
I tried so ******* hard
I broke my back for you
I took twice the load
I never told anyone else
Because nobody else would care

All they ever did was stomp me into the gutter
And so I turned to the one thing that gave me pleasure
This ****** addiction
Where self-harm is okay
Everyone else harms me
So surely it's okay to do it to myself

When I was seven years old, I found a body on the beach. It lay their, skin bloated and lips purple. I called to my mother and she took me away and told me not to look.

I asked her why the man washed up on our beach. It seemed as though she didn’t want to tell me. She put me on her lap and said,
“This man was very sad and lonely. He had no place to call home and no love of his own so he jumped off the bridge”. At the time I couldn’t grasp the concept of suicide.

Five years later I was crying in my room.

I asked myself why demons are evil, why did they choose to be this way when I eat myself alive if I’ve even remotely hurt another human being. I forgot how to feel.

And when I stayed home from school for a week nobody noticed. Why would they? I was just sick.

I asked myself why the rain had to fall. Why it swamped the Earth and drowned the good. I asked why I was here.

I was a disappointment. As if it wasn’t enough for me to feel as though I was one, I was constantly yelled at by the man who raised me for things I didn’t even do, crimes I didn’t even commit. In eighth grade he screamed at the top of his lungs and got red in the face with his “I GET SAD SOMETIMES TOO BUT YOU DON’T SEE ME CUTTING MY ******* WRISTS!”

There was no reasoning with him. He didn’t understand that there was nothing driving my sadness that was physical. He didn’t understand that sadness can spawn from deep within your soul and make even the sunniest days seem dark and gloomy. He didn’t understand depression. He didn’t understand me.

After the third of fourth time he caught me I blew up.

I asked him why a slap is accepted as discipline and why yelling is considered a form love. I asked him why HIS GOD would make me this way if it were a sin. That’s where his god ****** up.

And I asked why my wounds couldn’t heal with a band-aid and why the sun doesn’t shine on me anymore and why the days grow longer each day. I asked why the birds didn’t sing anymore and why I couldn’t lift myself out of bed in the morning because I felt as though someone sat on my chest. I asked him simple questions.

I asked why it was so easy to break apart razor blades and why he kept the pills in plain sight even when he knew how I was. I asked why nooses were so easy to tie and why he never came to get me when I was still in bed at 6:38 pm.

I asked him why the sound of me puking my guts out wasn’t recognizable from his bedroom. I asked him why he let me do this two myself THREE TIMES already without even maybe CONSIDERING the possibility that there was something wrong. My first trip to the hospital was when they had to PUMP MY STOMACH because of all the pills I swallowed. He kept them in a nice little cabinet in the bathroom with a lock on the door.

He told the doctor he hadn’t seen any sign and she asked WHY THERE WERE CUTS ON MY WRISTS WITHOUT HIM KNOWING.

Simple questions were asked.
“Why are you sad?”
“How long has this gone on for?”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

To this I LAUGHED I LAUGHED AT THEIR QUESTIONS BECAUSE I NEVER BOTHERED WEARING SHORT SLEEVES AND MY FATHER SAW HOW MUCH TYLENOL I WOULD TAKE TO MANAGE THE PAIN AND HE FOUND THE BLADES BUT SIMPLY TOLD ME TO DISCARD OF THEM BUT LITTLE DID HE KNOW THAT THERE WERE MUCH MORE THINGS IN THE HOUSE THAT WERE MUCH SHARPER.

I asked them why the man jumped off the bridge and why that wasn’t an acceptable option anymore.

It's an impulse you can't control,
An action you wanna take back
But let's face facts
You can't delay it
The pain waits patiently,
Tapping away at your consciousness
Regardless of the consequence
And I'll be honest with this
It's almost impossible to stop

Almost

The key word I hang onto with every breath
This is not just a test of strength
But of reality,
Making short work of your sanity
You try to stop it
But it won't have any

I see the kids with mocking laughter
Not knowing that my body awaits disaster
Trying not to cause drama
To kick up a fuss
To set off the bus
Drive it down main street and yell
"Hey look mum no hands".

There's a reason rumour rhymes with tumour
Malignant and fast
If not careful you'll breathe your last
One misplaced cut and your veins start spewing
On the gums with nervousness inside your mouth you start chewing
And deep inside your anger is brewing

Boiling
Broiling
Coiling around your throat
Just to choke you out

That's what my impulse is like
That's what my impulse is about
And sometimes it's hard to resist
When my subconscious persists
That little voice in my head telling me
"You ain't ****!"
"Just another mother-******* chopping board
Slicing
And dicing
The Sunday specials you had stored"

I'm better than this
Experience defines who you are
And I'd rather not be a peeling bandaid,
A walking, talking, bleeding scar
That won't heal!

That stays, never gives up for the wrong reasons!
Searches and lives a life without meaning!

I'd rather just be myself
Not the trash can everyone dumps their **** into
Even when it's full

I want to be safe
Can you say the same?

I remember a time when I felt happy
Waking up everyday was a new adventure
Some people would say things behind my back,
But I didn't care

I just carried on

I would stroll leisurely into the classroom,
Take off my shoes at the door because I picked at them
Sit down at my desk, right at the front because I couldn't focus sitting next to anyone

And just carried on

I would pick my spiky, plastic ball off of the desk I sat at,
Constantly fidget with it, resist the urge to place it in my mouth
And bite off the spikes, feel satisfaction. Sometimes I could resist.
Other times I couldn't, but I didn't care

I just carried on

That was back when I was in Year Four, in a class filled with students
Who, despite not knowing the word ***** would be one anyways
Only admiring me for my intellect, like when I suggested the word Bioluminescence as a favourite word and the teacher thought it wasn't even a word, because surely I was too young to know it?

Somehow, I carried on

Now, looking back on those days I ask myself,
When did my strength fade? The world become grey?
How can someone so innocent, so lonely, so... weak,
Be so strong and resistant?

How did I be me, and manage to carry on?

When nowadays I am constantly suppressed by society,
I can't be me without being called a ******, a loser,
Loner and so ****** up that surely I'm a stoner?

Doesn't matter that I hate drugs, my "friends" do drugs,
Smoke **** and make fun of me because I don't,
That God forbid I'm clean, don't **** with that ****,
Never will and never have, but this means that they can be mean?

How have I carried on, for so long, falling prey to those call me friend
And fade away faster than the light of day whilst vaping it up,
Faded as ****,
When all along I believed I wasn't strong?

I look at them and see no hope, no future
Not for me in that direction, at least
And I've told them time and again
That it's so ******* wrong, that there will come a time when hitting up the **** won't carry you further along anymore

There will be a time when they will fail to carry on

Maybe I still got some of me left in me
There's more on the inside than what the eye can see
Believe in myself, listen to no-one else and honestly?

I truly believe I still have the strength to carry on