#survivalmode
The saying goes "You are your own worst enemy."
Well my mind is the ******* ****** from "SAW."
It's trapped me within the confines of its own walls,
And everyday it teases me to get out.
The cynical little ***** knows **** well that I can't.
So she has me peel my skin off strip by strip until my nerves are exposed.
Daily I sit raw, in pain, and ready to end it all.
Salt is her favorite especially on the old wounds.
She pours it on thick and when I scream she proceeds to rub it deep in.
There are no "let ups" or "breaks."
Even in the attempt of dreams she is there.
Restless nights, restless days.
Endless torture.
How many times have I imagined putting a bullet through my head,
Or a knife through my heart?
She teases me with escapes.
Allowing me to imagine.
She quickly snatches it away with knowing I'll never be able to do it.
She's evil.
She has made it so I can't look at my own reflection.
She has distorted me.
She has destroyed me.
She has so deeply confused me.
Unhinged from birth, she makes me feel as if sometimes I'm going to explode.
I literally feel like my brain will explode.
It's her gift.
She makes me wish it would happen,
But she is too cynical for a quick ending.
She likes to pull it out.
Elongate it.
She feeds off of the pain and sufferring.
She would rather I sit here and saw off my foot with a rusted butter knife for nothing at all.
No easy way outs.
She's a crazy ***** that I have no control over.
She destroys me everyday.
Why do I destroy me everyday?
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
I made it through, though not the same,
I don’t respond, I don’t inflame.
The way I used to—quick to spark,
Now I sit still, inside the dark.
There was a fire that burned too wild,
It raged, it roared,
it left me riled.
But somewhere in that ash and smoke,
I shed the parts of me that broke.
I used to cling, I used to chase.
Give all I had to empty space.
But loss became a sharpened knife,
That cut the excess from my life.
Now love is quieter, more aware,
I don’t just give—I’m choosing where.
Not every hand deserves my hold,
Not every story must be told.
I see things clearer—sharp, defined.
Less from the heart, more from the mind,
But still I feel, just not the same.
Not every warmth must be a flame.
There’s grief in growth, I’ve come to know.
In letting parts of yourself go,
But peace has roots in what remains,
In softened thoughts, in loosened chains.
I miss the way I used to be—So open, wild, and endlessly free.
But that version of me couldn’t last.
She gave too much, she moved too fast.
So here I stand—rebuilt, revised.
A little guarded, a little wise.
I lost some light, I won’t pretend…But what I kept is mine to defend.
And maybe strength is quieter now.
Not in the fight, but in the vow;
To walk away, to let things fall,
To not need answers after all.
I made it through—that much is true…
But I am someone slightly new,
Not hardened… just more shaped by flame,
Alive, aware—and not the same.
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 6:52 AM UTC
If today were an emotion,
it would not speak,
only linger in the bones.
A quiet heaviness,
like footsteps that keep echoing
long after the walking’s done.
I have been motion.. world spinning
all weekend long,
a blur of corners turned,
hours slipping past,
some without asking…
Now the stillness comes.
But it is not rest—
it is everything in me
trying to catch up all at once.
After all the motion,
this is what rests in my bones.
Sleep clings to me
like a language I almost understand,
but cannot quite return to.
But I am not complaining…
just noticing
how my body hums low and slow,
like a tired song
that forgot how to end.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 5:01 PM UTC
I hate the way fear lives in my chest, like a fire alarm that won’t turn off, ringing at shadows, ringing at doors that might open.
I hate how I ruined good things before they get a chance to stay. How my hands shake so badly I drop gifts I begged the world for then blame myself for the mess.
I hate how I disappear mid-sentence, how I shut down like a house in a storm, lights off and doors closed, pretending I don’t hear the knocking even when I’m desperate for company.
I hate how I teach myself loneliness.
I practiced it until it felt familiar,
Until being alone felt safer than being seen.
Inside me, someone is screaming – not for attention, not for drama – just screaming because holding it all in, hurts more than sound ever could.
And lately, I really, really don’t like myself. The fearful version, the guarded one, the one who feels guilty for wanting peace, for wanting to laugh too loud, for wanting to be silly and soft in the world that taught me to brace.
But maybe… Maybe, the part of me that screaming isn’t broken… maybe, it’s just tired. Maybe, it’s begging for a gentleness instead of punishment.
Maybe, finding peace isn’t something to apologize for. Maybe, happiness doesn’t have to be earned through suffering. Maybe, I don’t need to escape myself like I’ve been trying so desperately to do.
Maybe, I just need to stop being so cruel to someone who’s been trying to just survive this whole time.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 8:20 AM UTC
I’ve let myself live on almosts and maybes, on quiet alarms I’ve trained myself to ignore; my body knocks soft, then softer, then silence… Till I couldn’t hear hunger knocking anymore.
Survival stitched armor out of my rib cage taught me that needing was something to hide… That emptiness meant I was doing it “right,” so I swallowed the signals that lived deep inside.
It isn’t quite fear and it isn’t just anger, it’s a ghost of a feeling that lingers too long like standing in sunlight, but feeling no warmth… Like knowing the lyrics, but losing the song.
I shrink all my wants into something manageable; filed them away in a drawer marked “later,” but “later” kept stretching to somewhere unreachable. And I became both the jailer and the traitor.
Now hunger feels foreign, like someone else’s language… a word on my tongue, I can’t quite translate. It flickers and fades like a half remembered dream… arriving too quiet or always too late.
And I don’t know what to call this becoming… This careful unraveling dressed up as control… This war with a body that begged me for mercy while I kept mistaking its cries for a role.
But somewhere beneath all the silence, I practice, a pulse still insists I am more than this ache… A rhythm, a drum beat, a soft reclamation: “you’re allowed to be fed, you’re allowed to take.” ♥️
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 9:35 AM UTC
He traced my limits with dripping fate,
A careless god with a water-drawn gate.
I ran in circles—dry shrinking fast,
Each lap a loop, a haunted past.
The lines closed in, the world grew tight,
No sky above, no edge in sight.
Till even breath became a crime,
And drowning felt like passing time.
But something wild refused to die,
Not strength—just rage at a soaking lie.
I kicked the flood, broke rules of grace,
And carved my way through scattered space.
Now here I stand, soaked to skin,
On dry land, breathing in—
Like I was never trapped at all,
Like the flood was just a small downfall
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 1:24 PM UTC
*Never assume
Or answer your own questions,
Do not begin to imagine
That you know
What's in my head,
Sometimes my words
Are purposely left unspoken,
Sometimes I need to pause...
...Because my mind is too heavy
Inside my head; it's as though
My mind is momentarily blocked
And filled with lead!
My silence
Is never in motion
Without reason,
Nor is it to ignore -
It is never with arrogance
Or malcontent,
It's just that
Sometimes
I tend to go numb
And get overwhelmed by life--
Due to my Anxiety -
Extracting reason
Becomes almost impossible;
Under pressure and stress,
My thoughts,
I cannot explain or shed.
Life can be overwhelming,
Anxiety doesn't help
The situation
At all,
Sometimes
My mind shuts-down,
Forcing me to go into survival-mode -
Because it's better for me to pause...
...rather than to completely snap,
Break and fall.
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC