I tiptoe across the floor,
I sway side to side.
I like to feel different textures, but some they make me cry.
I'm also a fussy eater, my beans can't touch my egg.
And god help you if you think I'm eating all that veg.
Bath time can be stressful,
I don't like water on my head.
It makes me feel weird and gives me a shear dread.
I know what's coming next,
The comb to my head.
I don't like the prickles, they feel just like the trickles.
The towel may be warm, but it irritates my skin.
The clothes are nice and bright but they just feel too tight.
My socks are never right,
My shoes rub off my skin.
The light flickers and the walls are caving in.
The music is thumping.
My head is pounding.
My mind is racing.
I feel agitated.
Panic has set in.
And my heart it is throbbing.
The humming of the oven,
The wish wash of the machine.
The dripping of the tap,
The whistle of the birds.
The bark of the dogs,
The cries of the baby.
The whispering of the walls.
I need my safe space.
I need to calm down.
I may self soothe as your touch could feel crude.
My emotions are overwhelming.
I can feel all the tears, it's like I'm drowning, so please stay near.
I try to do good, but I get frustrated.
No one sees my struggle, because I don't know how to say it.
I'm like a ticking bomb, ready to unleash thunder.
I scream, I roar, I hit, I kick.
I bite with all my might.
But I am in fright.
It's from the fight or flight.
But I am a gentle being,
Misunderstood it seems.
I might not like my toys,
But you bring me so much joy.
My eyes appear glazed and I may seem like I'm in a daze.
And though I might not say it, I love you in many ways.

love.
bullying.
heartbreak.
tragedy.
existence.
preference.
color­.
belief.
exhaustion.
insanity.
pain.
sadness.
illness.
worthiness.
stress.

all of these words tied together in one single, blood red soaked string.
even if we wanted to, we can't stop thinking about the past, present, and future.
we contemplate our lives as if the knife will deliver our freedom with wings.
but what we know without our power to **** ourselves, we are clearly unsure.

you see, many people have this stigma that killing ourselves is a selfish way to go.
that they believe we just need to "go for a walk" or "smile and don't be negative" as if it was our choice to become who we are.
many people believe we are just putting our masks, as if our illness was the stage and we were the characters putting on an overreacted show.
question is: don't you think we all would have done that if it was so easy to be happy and go far?

we put guns to our heads,
ropes around our necks,
slits on our wrists,
bags over our heads,
cement blocks on our legs,
pills down our throats,
and sidewalks crushing our fragile bodies,

because we are ******* tired.

we feel like we have no other choice of escape because, believe me, we have tried to protest against our sin.
our cries for help are seen as attention or fake until our bodies are found hung like limp and colorless ornaments on a burnt Christmas tree.
only in the dire times of our ends are we finally noticed and we fight, and fight until we begin to realize that it's the same vicious cycle of hell that we are thrown in.
our bodies being weathered and crushed and grounded into fine ashes that are later then caressed by the air as the preacher sets them free.

We feel so alone through the fights that are proclaimed to others that they will be there yet they vanish like cruel, cold-hearted magicians.
We are the rabbits in the dark pitiless top hat alone to swallow knives for everyone's entertainment as they stare fascinated yet afraid.
No one wants to help a helpless person for fear that their problems only result in a lack of cognition.
The responsibility of contemplated lives rest in the hands of those who want help, but at the end leave after all the hopes they said.
-
...I wish you can see my eyes when they're swollen red with droplets of dull crystals roll down the cheeks I so badly damaged with scratches as a fit of rage on Sunday.
But alas, I'm invisible to the naked eye like a ghost, am I the proof that paranormal entities exist?
I wish you can see my struggle as I attempt to break away.
From all the pain residing in my head that makes me think like a pessimist.
But, please, open your eyelids and expose your mind to the dark places we are living in even if it will take sometime for your eyes to get adjusted.
Uncover our eyes and wipe our tears and check our skin for cuts and scars.
We will refuse and say we're okay for the betterment of everyone else's situation.
But don't give up, for we know truthfully we have wandered into this dreadful, dark, and confusing brain maze pretty far.

We wan't to stop crying and hurting and feeling like our lives don't matter because we see ourselves as unwatered, wilted flowers given to a single mother of 3 kids whose father couldn't spare a little bit of sunshine to fill our stomachs.
Truthfully, we don't want to die, we want to find happiness and peace within ourselves to stay alive.
We want to be saved, we want to be helped, we want to be heard, and we don't want to further plummet.
So please, if you cared enough to read this poem for the betterment of our mental health, provide us the help and care, and call 1-800-273-8255.

"It is all in your head"
Yes, my illnesses resides in my head.
Out of all illnesses that can happen anywhere in my body,
My brain is the paper that soaks up all this poisonous black ink.

Yes, it is in my head. But just like any illness, I wish for it to go away.
I do not wish for more pain, more fear, more mellow feelings.
Yet, it sticks to my body like a fly in a cobweb, struggling to get out until finally it succumbs to its demise.
It's a fight against time and a battle caged inside my skull.
I can hear the banging, the screaming, the explosions.
And they're all directed at me.

Yes, it is all in my head. The constant fighting that leaves me so worn out, I can barely open my eyes to a pastel colored sky as the sun wakes from her slumber.
Skipping breakfast because it just doesn't seem appetizing, as I feel myself weathering into nothing but bones and skin.
Avoiding social interaction because I'll open my heart as if it was an invitation to make those feel welcome in the home that is my arms, fearing that they'll tear out the wallpaper and hammer out the walls.
Staying in my four wall cage that is my lonesome room because I have no motivation to do anything else but to cry and sleep and contemplate my life choices.
Running my fingers through dried red lines carved into my skin, fascinated at such a gruesome work of art made by yours truly.

Yes, it is all in my head. A constant battle waged against me that I fear I will never win. All I ever have is time, time to heal or a time to never feel.

Yes, it is all in my head. I am sick and in pain. I am afraid that the blood flowing in me will soon come to a sudden stop.
I need you to believe that what is in my head will continue to spread until I am no longer.
I need you to believe in me when I say I need help.

I went to a therapist last week.
I've got some things wrong with me.
Turns out I have SPD.
With lots of other "tendencies."
And a part of me wanted to be told,
That I fit the 'normal mold'.
But another part of me wanted validation.
Validation, meaning that what I felt,
Wasn't my imagination.
That's what I got.
And it thickens the plot.
At least I know I'm not insane.
I have these things to blame.
Or is it my brain?
To blame?
I guess,
Maybe everything,
Is to blame.
Including me.