I'm strong.
I am strong.
I will not,
And can not,
Let this take me over.
No, not again.
For I fear that I am only one relapse,
Two at most,
Away from my final demise.

sometimes i miss the days
when we didnt know how to be sad.
sometimes i miss the moments
when we were never apart.
sometimes i miss the days
that never let the sun set.
sometimes i miss the days
we didn’t know judgement and hate.
sometimes i miss the days
when we didnt know about abandonment.
sometimes i miss the days
when we didnt wish to die instead of live.
sometimes i miss the days
where i didnt see everything has a suicidal escape.
sometimes i miss the days
where all your words were of innocence.
sometimes i miss the days
when people didnt tell me, “smile more.”
sometimes i miss the days
when i did remember how to smile.
sometimes i miss the days
where i didnt know what relapse and recovery meant.
sometimes i miss the days
when everyone loved everyone.
sometimes i miss the days
that meant everything to me.
but now they’re gone.
and im here alone.
some days i miss the times
i thought i knew happiness.
because thats all i ever knew.

I've got a list of songs
About how this started,
Ranging back a month or two.
And when I give them all a listen
In a straight line,
I can't help but think of you.
You'll hit your friend
And go to hell
If it won't cost you a dime.
You'll wish me well
And drink to me
But I can't make you mine.
I'm tired of settling
For milquetoast men who cause me pain.
Every time he looks at me,
I see you staring back in vain.
He only wants to **** me
And maybe **** me up.
And I'm convinced he's only human
When ***** fills his cup.
And in spite of all the danger,
I'm gonna stick around.
Even if that ******* on his bike starts
To weigh me down.
Cause I can't turn back now
And I can't change the past.
And I can't make sure that that last relapse
Will surely be your last.
But I'll stay with you
And bargain through
Til this day fall south.
And I'll lend my words
And fight with you until my teeth hurt my mouth.
What's on my mind is
I can do better
And I can find a guy
Who won't spend his time wandering around,
Trying to get a free ride.
They let you off easy,
But I can't do the same.
So *******, honey,
I'm sick and tired of playing games.
Like Lennon said,
we're playing mind games
And you make me feel that I'd be better off dead.
Twist my pain
And make it your own
And I'll do the same.
But the outcome for both of us is clearly the same.
We're both headed for destruction
But you will follow through.
It's gonna happen some day but between he two of us,
I would rather it be you.

Feverish to the state of unbeing.
My wish is to evince green natured sublimity.
My love waits for one moment between
A valley between peaks
Mt. Adore, Mt. Deplore
Where every pocket of my immediate surroundings
Pulses it’s rhythmic truth
Rattles my sensation
Rattles of co-corporalisation to the tips of my nerve
Till my chest sinks or swallows or something
Till I literally gasp before the miracle of the Air
Till I phase out.
Till next time.
The hum drums on

In a coma state of bliss
with, an old memory  
of
a fascinating moment
that can not be forgotten.
I have lost all train of thought
and my sober mind
is about to relapse
please help me
with forgiveness.
Please heal these
****** wounds
Of a broken heart.
Shattered in the mirror
is a look of dissapointment
in myself.
But I know
soon
everything else will be better
as soon as I
let
it
all
go.
Let the weakness leave my body
as an overwhelming fear
of loneliness
is left
with me
and holds me
captive
to a house with never ending walls of white.
Though I am blessed
I don't embrace the light
enough;
I hold a grudge
against myself,
as all regreats come back to haunt me.
Like a shadow in the night,
I am left alone.
and in regards to how I feel,
I want you to feel,
as miserable as I do,
because you did this
to me.
But I have
to learn how to
let
it
all
go.

Okay, maybe this is a bad idea. My idea of "healthy" is really used interchangeably with "less".
My control is questionable when I'm in a Broken Mood so I don't want to risk it, it is better not to do anything stupid because I am so sick of living like that.
I'm just going to do a FEW things, but not full on. Even with a time limit, the lengths I'm willing to go to when I'm not in my right mind scare even me, so I'm going to be very, very careful.

I used to be a bright boy before the white noise,
disrupted my poise and ****** the joy
out from the world around me.
It’s astounding to see such a change.
No it’s strange but I found a way to get around the grey
but you’d probably say I’m deranged if I told you.
No I’m not scolding you I’m holding you to the acquisitions
you back with whack facts you extract from your fruitless
disposition. Act aloof but you and I both know it’s truthful
the only loophole here is feedback so don’t fear the relapse
and I won’t appear so relaxed to you.

I used to love the sound of white noise while I sat in bed.
I found it reminiscent to the voice in my head.
I counted sheep to the static;
the ratchet put me to a deep sleep.

I used to be a quiet boy before I found a slight noise
coming through the television.
I can’t tell you what it sounds like now
so you’ll just have to listen for yourself
Momma call the technician.
Something’s wrong with the transmission.
I no longer see a picture.
Momma fix it ‘cuz its pixelated.
Momma listen, I’d fix it myself if I had the proper tools
but school never taught me how to.
Wow look at what I amounted to
when you took the time of day to stay around
and watch what I’m doing when you could’ve found out
why I wasn’t viewing pleasure like I used to.

© Matthew Harlovic

I'm sorry
I've done it again.

They forced me to,
The voices in my head

Telling me I'm not enough
Worthless and a burden

No one's going to love me
And there isn't any point in trying.

They told me to
Go back to my blade

And seek comfort in the pain.
And that's what I did.

As I held my blade in my hand,
I felt the beautiful feeling of home.

Old memories fogged my mind,
The beauty of carving my skin and the pain that followed

It's an addiction
And also a hard one to get over.

i.
I am a short, stout girl in the corner of the room
my arms were much smaller last June
I search for reasons not to relapse in shadows like corpses
they're all dead, anyway
because my roommate is obsessed with the gym
because my best friend is obsessed with fad diets
even though I have at least fifty pounds on both of them.

ii.
I am forcing myself to use recovery speech
because it gets me through therapy more effectively
"fat is not a feeling"
my mind scoffs as I speak
every word copied and pasted from someone else's recovery blog
but my recovery is not avocados and yoga mats and veganism
it is complicated
it is painful.

iii.
I am the small, queer girl in the pew at church
so nervous as the skin around my nails begin to bleed
the scar on my ******* says "*******"
to American evangelicalism
and yet my lips still sing the loudest
the product of the "moral right"
how lovely it is to pretend to belong.

iv.
I am acting like my body knows what it is doing
as I reach for the hands of my most recent lover
I drop hints to my Republican parents
church members
best friend
but still,
I am struggling.

v.
I am trying to undo the codification of bulimia
from the fibers of my bones
I relearn daily
spun like wool through the continuum
of someone else's broken body
I become a success story
for some
but for others
I am still fat.

vi.
I want my eating disorder
my abuse
my queerness
to look normal
to be typical
some say
assimilation is liberation
so why do I still feel
chained and bound?
why am I still
unfinished?

the sun is shining and i think its time to let go.

the sun still shone when they told me that I was the most miserable person they’ve ever met. held how i thought about death at least 17 times a day against me, told me again and again about how many people I’ve ruined when most days I’m so anxious i can’t get out of bed… have you ever thought to wonder why some people preach so avidly about appreciating happiness as it comes? i suppose i cry better at bus stops than in front of my friends because i want people to think I’m doing well. i want to give people happiness and hope and one less thing to worry about because nobody deserves to feel the way i feel. nobody deserves to look in the mirror and feel disappointment towards the face staring back at them. i don’t want anybody to live like that with this perpetual lump in their throats this perpetual anxiety while bleaching blood stains from bathroom floors and pouring a shot for themselves afterwards. i just want to be something good.

the sun still shone while I’ve lived my whole life with my hands pressed underneath my legs to stop them from shaking, googling the price of child-sized coffins because when i die i want to commemorate the last time my mother said she was proud of me. i will never be good at writing I will just be good at injecting honesty into trivial metaphors. safety pinning my heart to my sleeve has only ever resulted in bloodshed. so here i am, bleeding again for the sake of poetry, putting laughter in place of commas and postponing the emptying of my belly until after I’ve left the stage. trust me i’m trying to be good.

the sun still shone but i think my least favourite version of myself has been the one that bathed my skin in artificial light to convince those around me that i had finally become radiant. fluorescent bulbs have only ever made my acne worse and triggered the overwhelming ache to burn off the skin I’ve been trying to crawl out of for years because i used to hurt people for no ******* reason. i would hurt them then play the victim because i knew there was a difference between drowning and allowing yourself to sink. I’ve only ever known inhalation when submerged in the ocean. i still just want to be something good.

the sun still shone when i skipped class for 4 weeks and came back on the 5th because its never too late. i want to become something good i know someday i will be, but first i need to be me. my palms are beginning to heal from everything ive held on to for too long. i am beginning to heal. and this time when i drop the mask, it won’t end in a relapse. i think it’s time to let go. its time to let go of the past and fluorescent lights and yellow sweaters, it’s warmer now anyways and i am me.

i am me in all of my sadness and illness and rage. i am me through every attempt I’ve taken at opening my veins to the sky, through every absolution I’ve granted unto people that called me a monster. i am me in my ugliness and unevenness and headassery i am me in all of my beauty and resilience and survival, kissing my past good bye with red lipstick because despite everything the sun has always shone and will always shine. in becoming myself, i am becoming something good.

i’m done hiding my face behind ripped notebook pages and the sun still shines. the sun is shining now and for the first time in 17 years i am beginning to feel it.

when a writer uses a semicolon
they choose not to end the sentence
when they could have
however maybe it has a new place
a new meaning
for those with mental illnesses
instead of ending your story with a period
replace it with a semicolon
you chose not to end it for a reason
your story matters
you matter
your scars matter
but they don’t define you
the number of panic attacks
that you’ve had within the past week
doesn’t define you
your suicide attempts
or lack of them
don’t define you
no matter how hard it is
you kept fighting
but for some of us
it’s a hard fight
and we don’t all make it to the end
but those of us who do
are able to help others
who are in the same battle
i know it’s a hard fight
but winning is worthwhile
you will be scared
you will cry
you will break down
you will relapse
but you have to keep fighting
you have to stay strong
no matter how hard the fight is
there are people who care about you
who love you
who would miss you
i would miss you
and i don’t even know you
but i know how it feels
to feel alone
worthless
broken
and i know it’s hard
but this world is so much better
with you in it
don’t end this story
with a “.” use a “;”
don’t close the book
don’t rush the ending
of your story
keep fighting this fight
because one day
the clouds will fade away
and you
are so much stronger than you think

-StefC

I wonder if I even want a response anymore. Because I always enjoy the challenge of being ignored. I'll complain about it, then still call you when I'm drunk, text you when I'm lonely. No response. And I'll go through my day as if I never was rejected. Neglect to tell my friends I had a relapse, that I'd been relapsing for 5 months now with no signs that there was even a good cause to fight for. Maybe I don't want anyone for my own, too complicated, too public, too much effort. So I like to intrude on things already in progress to be everything their missing, that thrill. But thrills only last so long. You taught me that.

All
            my old scars have faded away, requiring a prolonged glance
            to distinguish the results of my past anguishes.
            My weapon of choice unavailable, I sidle into the kitchen
            and looked for a suitable substitute.
I
            sit on the floor, tracing over the places I
know
            they hide with the tip of a knife held gently in my hands.
            My mind sputters along slowly, trying to engage my heart.
            But once I’ve reached the point of seeking
pain
            directed outward, my emotions have dissipated,
            and my personality flat-lines.

Wear shame
Wear it well
The saccharine faded
All that you cleave to
Is sticky with rage

Crossed the Rubicon
Only to plunge
Into the burrow of circumstance
Your pillow remains infertile
Path, dreary

One relapse from settling the score
Trail the footsteps of your forefathers
As the earsplitting ticking time bomb ticks
The enchanting nights of levitation are numbered.

Addict.
Maybe we should all tell you straight up, before you even know our middle names

I'm an addict. Yes, drugs. Yes, I have dreams, and parents, and friends who don't take drugs, and even friends who think I'm still sober, and this relapse is just that a relapse and it'll be over quite soon I'll show you

And I do want more out of life than this. Personally, I would like to travel, but don't we all. I'd also like to get good at skateboarding and writing and dating pretty people.

But yeah, there is the whole addiction thing. So let's get it out of the way. Don't love me, honestly. It'll hurt you almost as much as it'll hurt me to watch myself hurt you, because as much as I don't want it to happen, I'll destroy myself, and if you love me you'll see it, and you can't stop it, and if you love me it'll hurt you to see me hurt, and it'll hurt me back, and it's honestly just a world of hurt where I'm coming from.

But if I get sober, and I will, I'll show you that I can be as good as all those other non-addicts running around saying no to drugs. And you'll love it. And I'll be good to you.

Our paradise is right around the corner.

Just let me take a few more hits first.

Times are tough. Just a puff. One moment of despair.
Just a hair on a razor's edge. Just one step off heaven's ledge;
I'll dangle, before my wings
smoke
and fall from my back.
Just a puff.
Wings are for saps.

("And it's done," he whispers. "Too late to turn back.")
One failure is unconscionable to the voice in my ear.
There's time yet for that.
There's time yet for that.
My mantra reminds me of that will that I lack.

The cold steel glides over my throbbing flesh.
It yearns for the screams of a thousand nightmares.
It beckons to me from the darkness,
It frees me from my cage.
I answer it's call, holding it my arms like a lover lost long ago.
Reunited in a painful embrace.
This long forgotten feeling, now once again flows over my skin.
Spilling over, worthless rubies fall to the floor.
The flush cools my once screaming veins.
They whisper all together a collective "Thank you" as they fall asleep.
My precious metal friend falls to the ground.
I lay cold, dying, alone;
The screams from within me are now silent with their goal achieved.
Content, they scatter back into the darkness.
My relapse is complete.

It stings,
My arm,
But I'm used to it.
I'm used to the sick way the pain gives me something to feel
And how my heart stops pounding quite so hard
When red spills down my arm

Instead of feeling better
Here I am
Writing ****** poetry in the midst of relapse
Waiting for the antidepressants to finally kick in
So that maybe for once
I won't always feel like I'm sinking

This ball and chain called depression
Keeps holding me back
I can no longer launch myself into your arms
I am forced to crawl,
To carry this burden
Until my arms can no longer support me

I'm done.
I'm tired.
I want to be alone

But interspersed with the hauntings
Thoughts of living
Breathing
Laughing
Sneak their way into my mind

And tonight

I want to live

Death by fire.* The skin melting off of my bones and the smoke choking my throat and holding me down, my screams unheard of by those outside and seeing the dance of fire around my charcoaled bones.
Never knowing truth. Never understanding why I am here and what God wants me to do, to have him laugh in my face saying "You were always wrong!" Even when I thought he said it was in His plan, not ever fully understanding the ways of the universe that He so graciously let me explore.
Relapse. Becoming so sad again that I throw away almost a whole year of becoming who I am to succumbing to the hellish act of cutting open my wrist to see the blood flow from my body and to let the demons out again. To feel the sting, wait, numbness of it all.
Him touching me again. Never being able to say no. Feeling the touch of his sweaty palms around my waist, his fingertips making trails down my spine to my bare bottom, feeling parts of me that do *not belong to him.
Nobody believing me  Everyone telling me that I am a liar again, that I made it all up for attention and to break my family apart because I was "jealous" and I was "overreacting".
Losing her.  She can easily have any boy she wants, even other girls like her. I can lose her so easily, she's so beautiful. People constantly flirt with her, temping her to be theirs. But I am just me, and I feel like I am not enough, because she is everything, and I am nothing. No matter how dominating I am, I will always submit myself to her, because I belong to her. She can't leave me. I am hers.
Not getting into UC Berkeley.  I know I am not good enough, but I try to be my best. I try to get good grades and keep myself busy. I do not just want to attend this school, I need to be a part of this school because if I do not, then who would I be? All of my life's work would be thrown away and I would be feel hopeless, useless, and undeniably a failure. If I do not get accepted then I know I will never accept myself.
Going insane. I've seen these faces before, in the corner of my eye, hearing manic laughs within my mind, voices not there and things that run amuck. They are not there. They are not there. but oh! how they truly are sometimes. I just hope that they are not real.
Her taking her own life. Sometimes I feel like I do not help her at all. I can feel her sadness starting to creep back up on her again, wanting to take her and swallow her whole. I try so hard to help, but who I am to do that? I am powerless, I am weak. She is the strong one, not me. But oh, how sometimes even she succumbs to Deaths somber friend, Depression.
My parents finding out before the time we wish. Everything would die if they found out, they would extinguish our love so quick and **** everything that ever led to us being in love. If they found out, I wouldn't be myself anymore, I would lose the part of me that made me feel whole, I would lose the part of myself that I never knew that I was missing, I would fall apart, I wouldn't want to live anymore. What am I without you? Maybe life could happen again, and maybe we could find each other in the future when we are out of our parents hold, but that does not mean we would still be in love with each other. We would just be ghosts of each other's pasts, haunting each other throughout each other's lives and making us each feel so alone. Who would I be without you?
Last but not least, myself. I can easily do so much damage to everyone around me. I have hurt my love before, and my best friend, and my parents, and everyone else. I am my own worst enemy, and I can destroy everything that lives. I fear that I am constantly on self destruct without my love, that I am already dead and wishing to **** everything due to my unhappiness. Only love can cure the dead in heart.

I used to be afraid that one day you will leave me.
I had nightmares of you walking out of that door, leaving me to start all over again.
I used to think without you there is no tomorrow , there is no life, no time nor space

One day you walked away, shut the door on my face, just like that.
For hours it felt like I could not breath , time stopped. I stopped.
Thoughts that went through my mind were to dark, even for me.
I was reminiscing nightmares I used to have before you.

Well today I woke up and hit me, I am alive. I am alive.
You are not here and I am still breathing.....
I don't know why I was afraid of the sound of that door shutting me out.
I have heard it so many times, like a  chorus to a song I love,,, I sing along to it.

Walk and make sure you never come back. I will roll out a **** red carpet just for you. I will open the door shut, so ajar that time will get tired of passing through.
I don't beg anymore, I don't care anymore.. I am alive... more alive than ever before and you know why.. because you are not here......

So as you walk down the street I will ignore you, because you don't exist.. and I am not about to relapse..
You were never my life support, I was your life support,,, your oxygen , your beating heart...

The cold metal delves deep in me.
The red on my skin is all I see.
Red fades to black, sudden collapse..
Blinded by white, all due to relapse.
Light as a feather my last breath flows.
-
Surrounded by white a black rose rose.
Tiny as it seems, I verge upon.
As I aproach the rose grows on.
Thorny roots cover beneath me.
Seizing my ankles, forming a black sea.
Pulling me down into the darkness
Far below the white and harmless.
Ringed by black with constant pain.
A heartless soul held by chain.

1 pushup
i forget your face
2 pushups
i forget your fingers
3 pushups
i forget your
lips
i forget your nose
4
for
get
your
shoulders
5
forget
the back of your
neck
6
forget your thighs
touching mine
7
remember our smells
together
spicy
vibrant
8
remember the sound of our shoes
on the pavement
9
remember the river
10
remember the symphony of our laughter
11
oh look
back to 1's
again
well
at least
i know
where i am

for my friend with autoimmune disease*

Finally you are healthy,
for the time being. Won't you
pick up your guitar again
and play me a song. Sing
the world a lullaby.

So full of optimism, you,
make me believe, that you,
can conquer anything.
Except, relapse comes
and I'm crying. This world
can not afford to lose you.

This time turns out okay.
But I live in fear,
of unpredictable relapse.
While you, take advantage
of the health temporarily
granted to you. Each moment,
you deserve every moment.

The poem is either a confession or a rifle
It remains deadly regardless

The disorder, the struggle, the heartbreak; the criminal record, the tears, the drugs, the breakdown, the music, the suicide attempt, the riot, the midnight, the fire, the comedown and the uprising

The girl you spent nights awake over, writing poems you knew could never live up, who you were always afraid would ran like hell and never looked back if she ever saw through you,
The night you got arrested, trying to spray paint a manifesto on a red brick wall because you didn't know how else to make them hear you, and you couldn't wipe your own tears through the handcuffs so you had to let your face tell everyone that you weren't as brave as you thought you were,
The boy who died just months after his 18th birthday, who never wanted anything more than to disappear and finally got his wish except in your flashes of memory and dreams of a different life,
The day you first stood in the street with your fists clenched tight around a sign you held high as God and twice as loud, and you felt ignited for the first time in your life like you could burn up everything that held the world down with a Bic lighter and unshakable conviction

So this is where you find me,
Somewhere between the personal and the political,
From the needle in the groove to the back of the squad car
From the drunken night to the show of solidarity
From the "I can't go on anymore" to the "A luta continua"
From the relapse to the rise,
You'll find me in the poem, and I'll be fighting either way

I need there to be more to me.
Something that I can find in the clubs that have those beautiful galilees dancing into the mornings dew.
Those joints that say 420 isn’t a number but a religion.  (DUDE)
That bottle of jack, which I carry around at party’s that won’t leave me hitting on all of you and busting bridges left and right.
Her big brown eyes interchangeable with bright blue smiles.
Those awkward moments in each shape and form that they take.
Those ideas inside a wrapper that tell me it would feel much better if I break every bit of it.
That epic moment where my toes curl up beside yours after we have spoken our eternal vowels for that chance that even then, we will be together after you take that money off of my dresser drawer.
That I can find that good girl out there to do all those bad things I like.
That dream beyond a dream, that some loving caring, sweet women, who does not remind me of my mother, can make me laugh and wears glasses will let me *** all over them.
That imaginary disposition that tells me yesses really means no.
So I can hate myself every time you want me to be inside of you.
Those hope that my expectations will so far exceed yours.
That the bottle of Xanax’s and no dose won’t run out before the night is done.
And we wake up cold and naked with windows beaming from the flashing occurrence that daylight isn’t our enemy it is our friend.
That my ****** hunger will be enough sometime once I throw those 12 steps into it.
The hope that one-day out there I will be enough not for you but for me.
That I don’t wait for it to be a good day if you text me or not.
That moment that I will be at peace for me, not because of you.
That it doesn’t seem important for me to make you smile, laugh or cringe at my jokes.
But I say them not to be funny or win you over but for me.
And me alone.
I want it to be that day soon but I don’t work for it.
I sit on my computer screen day after day morning from night looking for videos and pictures that remind me of you.
And muddle it down in my little pink notebook with a bland ink pen.
But when I look at you and say I’m enough.
Not you.
That is my dream and will be my awakening.
I hope for that sometimes after the shame and the guilt of each utter more despicable relapse, I replicate just to look into the mirror and say when is enough going to be enough.
When will I find my *** of gold at the end of each rainbow?
I write this not for you but for me so that I can free me and hope that I am less of a painful break up to each and every one of you.
So that I can dream skip, leave and shout.
I want that to be true so bad.
But not enough, to do anything about it.
YET. But soooonnn.