Say it over and over again
I repeat to myself
In hopes I will heed my own warning

I tell myself to let go
But my heart is the one behind the reins
And it’s dragging me into the swamp

She wears a fake smile
Bearing her perfect white teeth
An illusion i'm only just starting to see past

Because reality is not as pretty as the pictures you paint
Or as your voice when you sing me lies
Ugly is my denial of reality that kept me coming back for more

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?

When you’re looking back
It's quite easy to say
I've made it so far
No more troubles on the way

But the moon warns otherwise
When she is wearing crimson
Err on the side of the wise
Pay attention to warnings given

Lest ye not want to survive
She, being the great mother
Is not attempting to connive
So long as you are not a bother

She doesn't take so kindly
To those who wish to harm
To hate, to destroy so blindly
Anyone or thing under her loving arm

To see blood on our mother moon
Is a sign of trouble not far behind
To listen close won't make you a lune
Though to obsess could do so in time

***** before the age of seven
I lost my faith that day
told that I couldnt get in to heaven
because I had *** before marriage
I was a child thinking I had a miscarriage
because the toilet and my ******* were blood red from where my ***** bled
and I shed my virginity and a tear
and everytime I walked in that bathroom I had fear
when I was naked I felt afraid
when I laid in my bed at night
I would close the door tight
I didnt want a sliver of light coming in
because anybody could creep in on a whim
That day changed me forever
I will never forget it
and I will always regret it
when he asked do you want to play a game
I said yes and expressed excitement and delightment
but that moment should have been his indictment
there should have been punishment and violence
but instead there was shushing and silence
in my head the blood is rushing inside of me
as I share this memory
I see the face of my enemy
dressed as a clown on halloween
and I want to scream.
but this isnt something to shout about
but im angry about it everyday
and im still hurting in every way
because Im not certain
the pain goes away
and inside I die
knowing that im not right

You're like a smoke detector.
A smoke detector without batteries.

You're supposed to warn me, protect me, save me...
You're supposed to be there before the flames engulf me.

But a smoke detector without batteries is only there for show.
Because by the end of the blaze...

I'm already a pile of rubble.

{df - 03/16/17-}