"relapsing" poems
Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tock
It's already 5am
And here I am
Wide awake
As thoughts run
Through my head
Like a bullet train
Am I relapsing again?
Or I'm just on the edge
Waiting for a helping hand?
Or maybe I'm letting it be
For I've missed
Insanity to seep inside of me
Seeing that I am able to write
Shows clearly that
Hypomania has arrived.
Welcome back,
My frenemy.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Having depression is like being thrown into a thrashing, surging ocean,
And you have zero idea how to swim.
Meanwhile, the entire world expects you to keep moving forward,
To keep trying to swim in this thing called life,
Even if you can't swim at all.
But you feel like you're dying.
You're choking on your own breaths.
And every breath is a struggle.
You feel completely stranded and alone.
As waves continue to crash over your head and pummel you with water,
You want to give up the fight, but you have to stay afloat.
Help comes in the form of pills.
They become your floatation device.
You're no longer relying on your own willpower to stay alive.
You're relying on what people say will keep you afloat.
Now at least you won't drown,
But you still don't know how to swim on your own.
Therapy helps teach you how to swim.
Soon you are swimming forward,
All on your own this time.
Or so you thought.
Even with the best therapists and things to keep you afloat...
The waves will still come,
Whether you want them to or not.
Because you have no control over them.
And you still can't swim on your own.
But people still don't understand.
They say that you should be all better.
They think that one bad day means you're relapsing.
You feel ashamed of your bad days,
So you hide them from people because,
Those people just don't understand the hardships of your journey.
You're still trying to learn to swim forward while the crushing waves and blasting currents are going against you.
No wonder you're so exhausted.
Every. Single. Day.
No wonder bad days still come sometimes.
Because some days will come that getting out of bed is hard,
And all you want to do is hide under the blankets.
But you don't, because the world expects you to get out of bed.
So, you get up and take a shower.
You make breakfast for yourself.
You grip onto the radiating warmth of your cup of coffee.
You remind yourself of who you are.
And you remind yourself of how strong you are,
And how strong you can be.
Because bad times might come.
Bad days are going to come.
But you still can't swim on your own.
You still feel like you want to stop moving.
Let yourself drown in the crushing currents of the ocean.
But you can't give up just yet,
Because tomorrow might be better.
Tomorrow there might be moments you want to live for.
Sunsets you want to chase,
People you want to embrace,
Laughs you want to share and tears drops you want to cry.
Memories you want to make,
Conversations you want to have,
Favorite foods you want to savor and places you want to go.
Things you want to try,
Gifts you want to give,
And love you want to find.
But you wouldn't know unless you kept trying to swim.
So you choose to keep trying.
You choose to not give up.
You choose to remember how strong you are,
Because better days will come.
And at one point, on one day, you will learn how to completely swim on your own.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
I wrap my arms about my torso and brush my thoughts 'gainst you,
crying.
*Rainwater best cures a torn-soul
when boiled in a *** atop
a burner left burning all night.*
Crying,
the sky giveth us wonders and taketh the wonders away.
O' the water's down a'boilin'.
Ye' it all boils down to you.
To you and how you go.
Ye' when you go, you go.
O' where you a'goin' too?
See that go-getter go-gettin' his girl–
Good for him. Good for him.
Send some good for the man with a will when he wills his will to be.
And good for the fingers who first feel a fortune 'fore the fortune is seen.
And good for the addicts relapsing in attics with kisses of dopamine.
And good for the thoughts of you that brush against my skin,
that for days on will hold–
*Eighteen! Eighteen! I say eighteen years is the bridge,
the forest fires will forever forget to burn!*
I say give it a year and call him on that telephone and
he will answer on that telephone and
you will beg his heart come home, beggin' a'bargainin'–
*Eighteen! Eighteen! I have missed you for some time,
bent-to-bet a century's pass'd since we last kissed.*
One match done been lit in the county matchbook.
Such is the click-click of a gas stove igniting,
I call that rip-exciting, torn-enticing, fates be a'dicing–
*Eighteen! Eighteen! It was another day–
It was another life.*
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Parting my subtle fingers, touching the silky,mellifluous hair
Slowly moving beneath,
Placing my hand beside ,
Drawn to your marvelous, profiled, sculpted, jawline
Teasing fore play and kisses,
Without wasting hesitation,
Removing fabrics swinging in rage across the room,
Bare back and body,
Temperature rising,
Top to bottom,
As you harden and drenched,
Your rugged , tempestuous hands,
Throwing a weak influenced temptation,
Into a lustful haze, spinning
An imitation on repeat,
The heat intoxicating , inflaming the bonds between our desires,
Penetrating our virginity,
Throbbing in and outwards,
Notion the anguish and agony ,
Discomforting in moving surfaces,
I plead within your name ,
Carelessly tugging and hanging onto your body,
Arms flung around your waist,
As you angrily demanded more from me,
Ordering to continue on wards,
The obsession grew expectantly,
A new form of infatuation,
Thrusting relentlessly,
Earsplitting moaning,
Sensual whispers,
Piercing marks ****** ,
Licked,
A Sign of ownership,
Smacking grip below,
Letting go uncontrollably,
Reaching into the endearing ******
Seizure,
Absolute Bliss.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
On the first day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the second day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the third day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fourth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fifth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the sixth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the seventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eighth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the ninth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the tenth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, the meat man gave to me, twelve brothers ******* eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
Recovery is such a weird word.
To different people it means the same thing,
but for different things.
To me, recovery is for depression and anxiety
To another could be for drugs
To yet another alcohol
and all of them are negatives that we try to make better
and I've definitely recovered from where I was before
but, I'm not fully recovered.
I'm still getting my **** together
I'm still having bad *I want to **** myself* days
I'm still fighting the urge to cut
I'm still unable to cope
but I'm still trying
I guess trying, is tiring, but worth it, right?
I don't like change, and darkness was so comforting
I felt terrible for so long, but it was all I could remember
Now, I'm recovering
recovering who I was
although sometimes it feels like I'm losing who I am
whatever, thats not the point
my point is messing up is okay
relapsing is okay
and one day, I will be okay
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Falling into depths of indecision
Where once there was redemption
Feeling this moment come to freeze
As I am falling, falling to my knees
Life continues to mock, laugh at me
Taking away hope, left feeling empty
The past comes creeping, crawling
Causing dark words that are scrawling
So age comes running, giving his test
This aching body, I fear I detest
Relapsing into an unknown thought
Stripping me of all I was taught
Doubt comes with nothing to save
Taking me one step closer to the grave
Where once there was redemption
I keep falling into depths of indecision
copyright Chris Smith 16th December 2010
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
You always said I talked too much.
And while I certainly
don't think most people of at least
a reasonable degree of competency would
be inclined to disagree, it just seems
to me that you were thinking
about it all wrong.
Perhaps the real
problem was not my tendency to
speak loudly and with great frequency
but rather it was the inferiority
of your listening abilities,
or lack thereof.
You see, I wouldn't
need to constantly dwell and
reiterate and repeat if you would have
been able to conceive even momentarily
that there was reasoning tucked between
the seams of my stories that I kept
waiting for you to find.
I wanted to give you
chances repeatedly to display some
needed empathy and to meet even my
most basic needs or, **** it, just common
decency but all requests were met
selfishly and I think its time
to leave it behind.
I am ready to breathe
regularly and sleep without the haunting
dreams and stick to it this time without relapsing.
I am ready to finally start resisting picking up the phone
when you inevitably decide you are feeling a little too lonely
and know that you can always count on me to be too
desperate and too weak to waste an opportunity
to speak because you always said
I talked too much.
I hope I am finally running out of things to say.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
I remember relapsing on the floor of my mothers basement.
I still remember what it was like to feel my conscious
leave my body and
float into a complete world of
darkness.
There were no pretty patterns or
surreal hallucinations.
The bright light that everyone
spoke of
was not there
and I wondered
if I was to blame for it
being gone.
And at the same time,
I remember what it was like to wake up.
To see my mother, father,
brothers, sisters
and friends
standing over me.
Crying helplessly wondering if I would
ever be the same again.
I remember what it was like to look into their eyes.
And I remember what it was like to push every single one of them away.
I remember what it was like to argue and walk out on
the same people that said they would
always be there.
I remember because it was the only time in my life that I
truly didn’t care.
But here I am today.
Trying to find the words to make you believe
that I am a better man.
Here I am,
pulling truths from parts of me
that I have not visited in years.
But being transparent does not
******* me like it used to.
It motivates me more than
ever before.
This shaky,
raspy,
unattractive voice of mine
is all I have.
And by any means,
I am going to use it.
There’s only a few other things
I was put here to do.
And if speaking
even when I’m not
spoken to
somehow
saves my life,
then so be it.
Because I remember
what it was like to
keep everything bottled up
and how it got me
absolutely nowhere.
I remember being stepped on
and squashed
as if I did not matter.
I remember what it was like to have
no faith in myself
because that was what everybody
taught me to believe in.
That it was wrong to step out of line
if it meant losing friends or
loved ones.
And I believed them because I didn’t know
anything different.
I didn’t have any independence.
I didn’t have anything to stand for.
I was just a little kid,
four-foot-something,
trying to make it through
another day.
And for every night I prayed
for tomorrow not to come
to a God that I do not believe in,
it always came.
And even though this embodiment
of doubt,
that is my existence,
has never been a breeze-
I can only hope that it has been
worth fighting for.
That every day and every night
I spent hungover or
strung out on the floor
did not go in vain.
And all I can do now is work hard
every single day.
All I can do now is give every ounce
of energy that I have to
making a difference
on people that are going through
what I’ve been through;
to give someone a voice that is
comfortable and
familiar.
and despite the cliché,
maybe even some hope.
Because I remember what it was like
to figure it out
all on my own.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
January 16th: I am running in circles.
January 17th: Reality is just a figment of one's vivid imagination.
January 18th: The exit of the co2 from my lungs, to my mouth, and then the atmosphere. Expand and contract my brain. Expanding is new found knowledge and contracting is the loss of knowledge. Thus, my intelegence is relative to the amount of gasses in my brain.
January 19th: Secretly, you control me.
January 20th: Over the next two hours, you slowly drift back to reality. The once sea bound boat is approaching land and, with each passing wave, you are coming closer to sobriety.
January 21st: What is this love you speak of?
January 22nd: A numbing sensation has paralyzed my arms. I can feel a million little creatures with in me. While they crawl beneath my skin, they leave their path of serenity. The ecstasy, that races to my heart. To touch my blood with a soft kiss and slowly warm my frozen body.
January 23rd: We will be forever hoping, forever wishing, and forever praying to find love. A feeling our primitive minds will never understand. In this age love will never be found because the passion that created us, has left this world.
January 24th: Sometimes I feel like:
I am exiled by my own people, searching for another lost soul in this desecrated world. The only remnants I have of people are the skeletons of wanderers from long ago. Each lonely corpse I see I become more and more afraid. In fear, I run through this land of broken dreams. I am running in circles. I am lost. Back to where I began my quest I realize this land is hell and I am alone. In time I will soon become another lost soul. My desire to leave this place motivates me to keep walking. This keeps me sane. In the distance I see a figure shinning through my haze of hopelessness. Is this a hallucination? Or am I not alone in this world?
January 25th: Sights are sounds and sounds are sights.
January 26th: I am falling to apart trying to fix your broken heart.
January 27th: **** and be ******
January 27th: The warmth of a fire can warm the coldest of hearts.
January 28th: In the rain, I carry no disguises.
January 29th - January 31st: I am relapsing
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
IN the morning, a Sunday morning, shadows of sea and adumbrants of rock in her eyes ... horseback in leather boots and leather gauntlets by the sea.
In the evening, a Sunday evening, a rope of pearls on her white shoulders ... and a speaking, brooding black velvet, relapsing to the voiceless ... battering Russian marches on a piano ... drive of blizzards across Nebraska.
Yes, riding horseback on hills by the sea ... sitting at the ivory keys in black velvet, a rope of pearls on white shoulders.
1.6k
I may be an odd ball but I will make the ground beneath me crack open from my rage. I find that when I fight a war wits, the Earth Bites Back. Doctors in psychology, medical, therapeutic and logic all agree that I am crazy and insane. I have been through all of the scans, x-rays and tests for mental health. I have medications for my bipolar disorder and my high functioning sociopath-ness. The meds don't take away my creativity nor my high strung rebelliousness. I know how to take care of myself. My psychotic break was the worst thing to go through. I don't have all of my memories from that summer. I know how to decode my literary codes from that summer. I remember the mood swings, the restless nights, going to the hospital, my mom freaking out and me having no idea what was going on. That summer is all a fever dream to me.
The Earth Bites Back what some call crazy, I call genius.
The Earth Bites Back, I don't plan on relapsing my psychotic break.
Mentally, I sound like an alcoholic, too much stimuli and I am everywhere either too high or too low. The fall and winter depression is the worst too. All of the crying, all of the misery, all of the dreary overthinking and all of the sulking over the past.
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 11:30 PM UTC
You've got some real nerve thinking we could be friends again,
And I've got a real problem telling right from wrong again,
I think I stood strong, you still wouldn't admit you were wrong,
I understand I was harsh, but don't forget how you led me on,
You threw me away and ruined what we had,
After you found more strife in another man,
Now I'm ****** up, because you couldn't keep your legs shut,
I know you'll try and talk to me again this year,
But this time, I might legitimately give a ****
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
Why do you keep relapsing?
Well,
Its like yours mind give s you a hunderd reasons
To be happy.
And your depression says
Wait.
Here's a reason to be sad.
Every single thing thats wrong,
That you have done wrong
In your entire life.
All of the memories
And then that voice over rules
Everything.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
I remember
When a the word relapse
had A meaning .
When I’d Explain what it
Meant so you can be aware.
Told you what tempts me
What are some triggers.
I Expected You to
View it as a 911 call.
To help me when I’d fall.
You never payed mind
To the importance of it.
Just like you Didn’t think
Telling you I had an addiction Was something that bad.
I remember when
You Made your own definitions
To all the words I’d tell you.
I’m the one struggling
But you always made yourself the victim when it was me who needed attention, apologize, comfort & to support me.
Temptation & triggers
Have no meaning.
You never cared to look after me.
It wasn’t something you’d have to be 24/7 about.
You never questioned your negative actions & how that’ll provoke me.
You never cared until
A Relapse
Meant I Used because
I wanted to get high.
Finally You show importance.
Not in the way where your concerned if I’m ok & hoping that hit didn’t cause harm.
Concerned to where you stood by my side & talked on why it happened & what can we do to prevent it again.
instead , a relapse means
Talking **** to me , making me feel bad , blaming me, making yourself feel like I betrayed you
Feeling so angry saying I don’t love you & love that more.
You abandon me & go m.i.a
When you were the cause of why i couldn’t handle feeling hurt etc
I remember when
Relapsing made me feel guilty & so bad because I failed you & disappointed you.
I remember When
I’d tell you I’ll never be honest on my sobriety , confess or hand over paraphinillia .
For me to do the opposite of what I swore I’ll never do.
All because it killed me to lie & hurt me to see you stress your mind on doubts if I’m clean or not.
All For what ?
For you To talk **** to me when I confess about relapsing, for you to call me drug addict & insult me calling me Druggie tweaker etc
When I’d Hand you things
Etc
Me Being honest to you & open with my recovery only
Damaged me more.
What I gained wasn’t support.
It was money being thrown at my face telling me to go get high.
Calling me drug addict in many insult full ways.
You made a joke out of
my struggles.
You’ve never been there for me.
How far the meaning & value of relapse once meant.
A relapse now means nothing to me when it comes to you.
Being true to you
Only back fired.
You use it as leverage
To insult me more & have negative things to reply.
“I wouldn’t know, you kept
it from me before” etc
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
I binge write,
Like an addict relapsing from ******
I wake at 4:13 in a cold sweat
Because somehow words have become more important than sleep
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
I wake up and feel something is askew.
Then I remember what I heard last night on the news.
Then I push it aside and turn on the TV.
I’m sure someone can deal with it better than me!
Our politics are failing. Society’s flailing.
Getting’ crushed under the weight of our own pompous detailing.
But I don’t mind, there’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just grab a bite, get another tattoo.
Maybe by the time I’m done, it’ll have worked itself out.
If it hasn’t I’ll just shut my eyes and think of something else!
I guess I could try to make a difference,
But I’ve got more important things I have to deal with.
Like the season finale of my favorite show,
A bottle of Jack to finish and a party to throw!
I guess I can try to help out, if I’ve got the time. We’ll see.
Hey, look! Beer over there is buy-one-get-one-free!
I gotta stock up for the big game tonight.
Gotta go. I’m sure you got the problem covered, right?
Drunks and liars and posers, you’re fired.
Idiots, ********* worldwide mob masses.
Outcasts that walk alone, self-loathers, homophobes.
Jesus freaks. One more drink. Intelligence levels sink.
Dumb jocks and ****** Gangbangers. Guerilla wars.
Drop the dime, save the time. Pretend you’ve lost your mind.
Uppers and downers. Immigrants, minors.
Emos and cheaters, and ******* wife-beaters.
****** ex-girlfriends, freaks, frauds, text message sends.
Alcoholics relapsing. Governments collapsing.
Oil spills, anything for thrills. Hold on, just one more ****
Suicide bombers, no mothers, no fathers.
This world’s so ****** up, how will it end up?
I don’t wanna know, don’t wanna see.
Don’t make me face reality!
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
your lips are bleeding
somehow the attraction persists
a dream awoken and the realization only
makes the sunrise that much louder
exhausted like a different direction
and the destruction was intentional
starting the next part
one round in the chamber
coming and relapsing into it all
like a year ago
nothing is a song
i am pretending to walk in circles
not taking to you
calling out
no echo
it's all fabrication
the lost distance in your eyes
this is all textbook insecurity
a shared life experience
it's still hard to hear your shadow
it's unsupportive and I'll remember the final seconds
and meaning is not important
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
Alone
It Feels More Than It Really Is,
Desolate abandonment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew
Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves have turned
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze
My life's cautionary tale, discerned
Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone.
No matter that the majority
the best parts of our life's real years,
Are spent relapsing in mere memories
As sincerely, serenely, their aura disappears.
It Really Is More Than It Feels
Alone
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 11:39 PM UTC
Like as a flamelet blanketed in smoke,
So through the anaesthetic shows my life;
So flashes and so fades my thought, at strife
With the strong stupor that I heave and choke
And sicken at, it is so foully sweet.
Faces look strange from space--and disappear.
Far voices, sudden loud, offend my ear--
And hush as sudden. Then my senses fleet:
All were a blank, save for this dull, new pain
That grinds my leg and foot; and brokenly
Time and the place glimpse on to me again;
And, unsurprised, out of uncertainty,
I wake--relapsing--somewhat faint and fain,
To an immense, complacent dreamery.
1.4k
when your parents tell you that staying in bed all day is just you being lazy and that you can't use depression as an excuse; stay in bed
when your friends always complain that you never come out but never want to hear about your problems because its depressing; find new friends
when your dad tells you that your career goals aren't real jobs; spend his money on going to school for learning how to paint
if your boyfriend doesn't spend time with you even after you told him how miserable you are; break up with him
when our job cuts your hours, find a new job
when you get the urge to dye your hair, do it
want a piercing? do it
when your doctor tells you that you are past the point of help, succeed not only for yourself but so you can rub it in their faces when you prove them wrong
when you get stuck in a rut, don't let relapsing be the outcome
always call someone for help because being 17 with depression and no one that supports you can be hard.
make new friends
tell your dad to **** off
get a new boyfriend
travel
buy records
take pictures
drink with your friends
hug your mom
tell your brother how much he means
burn your collection of 39 suicide notes that you've written over the past year.
tell your best friend that she means the world to you
make sure those in your life know how important they are to you
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
breathe in, breathe out
you're so ugly,
no wonder ***** doesn't like you,
why would they anyways?
you're fat,
not pretty,
not smart enough,
not tall enough.
you're just not enough.
you're never enough.
and you never will be either.
breathe in, breathe out
my heart beats faster,
my saliva gets harder to swallow,
i start to choke on my own air,
my lungs tighten up,
my head starts to spin,
tears start rushing down my face,
there are too many people in here,
are they laughing at me?
they probably think i'm pathetic,
actually, you know what?
they are right, i am weak
i can barely even go a week without
relapsing and having some sort of
mental breakdown.
i cant, i cant, i cant.
breathe in, breathe out
help please someone help me
mike ashley amy anybody please
i need someone help me please
i don't know what to do anymore
i'm drowning in my own mind please
just someone help me!
breathe on, breathe out
just look at mike, he makes things better..
right? god, his big, beautiful blue eyes really
do make things so much better.
wow. i never realized his hair was so curly...
must be nice to be his fiancée, i'd do anything to
play with his hair. but, i'm not, of course,
i'm not good enough, too young, not pretty enough,
just..... not enough.
breathe in, breathe out
it's your fault you know.
you let him touch you.
you let him do those terrible things.
you let this happen.
you ******* ****
great ******* job.
breathe in, breathe out
finally my breathing becomes a bit slower as my friends ask if
i'm okay. then i start to get back on track. i think about my
grades, friends, mike (in a more positive way) and i simply just
breathe.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
I'm sitting in the library before school,
talking and laughing like any other day
when you reach over and pick up
a book on overcoming anorexia.
You hold the nonthreatening orange-and-purple cover in your hands
that I once thought were gentle
and scoff, saying, "People with anorexia are so stupid."
Our friends sitting around us agree
and laugh and joke about it
while I sit in mute horror and suppressed panic
and dig my fingernails into my skin
until someone asks
why I'm not laughing.
Why am I not laughing?
I am not laughing at the disease
that consumed my life for nearly a year,
that ripped and clawed its way into my mind
and through my veins
like an addiction,
like a freight train gone off the tracks,
out of control and spinning
and uprooting everything crucial and meaningful
and burying it it flames,
turning it to ashes.
I am not laughing
at the nights I spent crying
and hating myself
while I felt the lining of my stomach
try to consume itself
in a poor replacement of the
sustenance I was denying myself
while I again dug my fingernails into my skin,
pins holding a dead butterfly
to its morbid display.
I am not laughing
at the thoughts that constantly filled my head
of death and disaster and pain
of wishing them upon myself
of making them happen
of letting myself shrink
and shed the space
that I believed I did not deserve to occupy.
I am not laughing at the thoughts
that after two years still plague me-
is my stomach sticking out?
do you really deserve breakfast?
your thighs are too big
your hips too wide
I count fewer ribs each day
you are fat
fatfatfatfatfatfat
worthless fat useless fat pathetic fat
you deserve to die
fat.
I am not laughing
at my choice
of slow suicide
that I made the
agonizing choice
to save myself from.
I am not laughing
at the book that I myself read
at every torturous bite of food I took
at every painful step of recovery.
I am not laughing
because I will not take away
every moment I felt strong for not relapsing,
every prayer I pled
every tear I shed,
every time I decided that I did not want to die
anymore.
I am not laughing.
I am leaving.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
I sit here crying.
Vomiting.
Smoking.
Dying.
I have no reason
For my sadness
For my anger.
But I am crippled by it.
I cough
The taste of poison
Trailing on my lips
Like paint on a window.
I'm not afraid to die.
Not anymore
You changed that for me.
Thank you.
Thank you for breaking me.
Crushing the final pieces of my heart.
The funniest **** part.
Is that you broke me by not speaking.
So I sit unknowing
Shaking
Hallucinating
Relapsing
The blood pours
The smoke swirls
The pills fall
And I'm in the center of it all
"Are you okay?"
A kind woman asks me
Truly concerned.
And I startled myself with my reply.
I looked up at her smiling.
It looks like I'm baring my teeth.
My eyes not quite able to focus
Tears smearing my makeup.
I reach towards her touching her
To see if she is real, she is.
And I laugh.
Throwing my head back.
Screaming, crying and laughing.
No I'm not okay.
I'm not sane.
I'm not going to survive this.
But that's okay.
We are all born to die.
And die we shall.
But I'm dying laughing.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC