I love the way you feel

Late night thoughts and memories flashing to remind me of when we were beautiful. The husk of what remains barely held together as we both pull away. I sit and remember the way you’d always want your hands on me, maybe to make sure I was real, the same way I could kiss you all day, your mouth the perfect feel.

I miss that like it was ripped away from me a phantom limb I’m longing to see. I wish we could go back. To before I had feelings and less selfishly before it hit you. Hit you that you actually liked me. That you wanted more of me, even if I wasn’t ready for what you were ready for. What you thought you were ready for. In reality, when it got good, got more real you pushed me away. Put your hands in front and told me to pick but both hands were empty.

I thought, maybe this is short term, things will be back soon, but one month turned to two, three, four, and my soul is dragging trying to carry everything I thought we would be. Because I’d never had hope before but when I did, once I did, you shut me out. Little by little whittling the fire out of me. The surety I’d grown to have that you would protect me, nourish me, lead me where we needed to be.

Every time I sit. Every time I think of how much that hope cost me I want to scream. It seems like all I want to do these days is scream.

I have these spells where I don’t want to be alive anymore. Usually I can remind myself that it will pass. That it’s circumstances, stress, and pressure but it’ll be better.

This time I just pray almost daily God will let me die in my sleep.

I Don’t want to talk about anything. I’m not passionate about anything. I don’t want to go out. Hang out. Have friends. If you call what I have as friends.

I fight intrusive thoughts 45% of the time my eyes are open. Suicidal thoughts another 45%. And stress about all the shit going wrong that I’ve been trying to get right for the past 2 years.

If I can’t fix my life. Why am I here. If I can’t get healthy why breathe air. My life is struggle and I’m tired. Even at the best parts I was being abused by someone who was meant to protect me.

Just feels like I wear this skin to appease those around me. I daydream about dying or falling off the face of the earth to a place no one knows me and no one ever will.

I try to get help. Professional help but professionals want money. They want real insurance so I fail at that too.

I’m a waste of space. I can’t do shit right anymore. And that’s fine. If I manage this roll down the hill maybe I’ll get to a place where I’m not a waste and can do shit right again. Maybe not.

Bleed

What would it mean to

die in the house that haunts me.

Don’t contain it to the tub but let it

trail down the hall, down the stairs, everywhere

that held my pain. I’ll give it back and

when it’s all gone, maybe I’ll get peace

self

I betrayed myself falling in love

Not because of the love but the subject

I gave and was still willing to give, until there was

a deficit within me. I gave up me just to have a feeling

a feeling I can give myself when I take the time to see me

Bigger Dreams

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I want

to not want exactly what I’ve been seeking

to want the right thing, whatever that means

someone who wants me, who appreciates me

my health, because what does any of this matter without it

Break

Betrayals are apart of life; no one is exempt. Even knowing this, we all have at least one person we feel will never betray us.

He was one.

But.

He stole from me. Stole my trust. Stole my peace. He took away things I have yet to fully process.

When I think about it, anything from that day, I feel the tightness in my stomach. I feel my eyebrows pull together, and the ache in my skull. I feel the walls closing in. And I have to remember. This day isn’t that day.

Seeing his face breaks my heart. I can’t even imagine trying to hear his voice, and that, that is hard to accept. I counted on him more than I counted on ANY man in my life.

He never failed me. Never lied to me. Never abandoned me or made me feel like I wasn’t a priority. If I could’ve loved him, the way I now realize he loved me, I would’ve.

A part of me feels deeply responsible. That I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it or noticed the signs. But I didn’t. And as I do any time a man hurts me, I blame myself to remove some of the weight from them and the devastation that they’ve caused me.

I want to deal with it, but I don’t honestly know how. I feel trapped in the moments. I feel the fear all over again and I feel paralyzed. Jokes are made about it and I force a fake laugh, but in reality, I just want to scream.

But that’s life.

Cyanide

I have a theory that not every suicidal thought means you will kill yourself.

That sometimes it’s just the expression you understand to articulate utter exhaustion.

That although you would rather not be alive, you certainly don’t want to take your own life.

That all you really want is relief, and it feels like death, simply not being, is the only relief you’ll ever get.

It’s the reminder, that you have a choice. A choice other than fighting your own mind, your failing body, and your chronically wounded heart. That maybe all the brokenness was meant to shatter a glass, not meant to be fully put together.

The thoughts fill all the holes, the holes everyone else has beaten from your mold. There are no real gaps, every pain, every heartbreak, left something else in its wake. The thoughts.

And as the pain grows, as the frustration grows, as everything but your happiness grows, so do the thoughts. Even when you hold onto the happiness for dear life. Even when you fight to feel it in your darkest moments. The veins that build who you are, can’t hold it for long. They’re too accustomed to the slicing, the letting of everything that poisons you.

Because happiness is a drug, a quick high that you hunt for, and wish you could store more of, because too much at one time, makes you sick. Your body bucks against it.

But the thoughts.

Woman

I am not a record for you to play
To turn me up or down, when you want to listen to me.
Nor am I the scapegoat to every problem that arises. Your reason for never speaking an apology.

I was a flower.

Now I am rotting in a pot, too small, unwatered, and overly plucked for the petals were so beautiful you couldn’t resist.

Never Enough

Throughout today, and the last few days, I’ve thought of a few interesting ways to start this post, but I feel like the best way is to just say what needs to be said. Although I’m sure my therapist has had my diagnoses for some time, my past session we actually discussed them, and I have to say, I wasn’t happy. I’m still not happy, but I’m a little bit more understanding. I was diagnosed with chronic PTSD, anxiety, and seasonal depression. The depression wasn’t really a surprise, nor was the anxiety. It was(is) the PTSD that really threw me off because of all the things that I was comfortable being diagnosed with, that was not one of them. To be honest, it left me feeling ‘less than’ the person that I’ve grown to see myself as. More than anything it was accepting that, that small thought in the back of my head was right. But it was also accepting that I have to deal with certain things, and desperately need to heal.

I guess it makes sense. I’ve been on this kick the last month to really grow. Grow my money, my relationships, my goals; everything. Of course I didn’t include my mental health, I figured a few more months of therapy and I’d be all set. The idea that I’m looking at years, is daunting, and frustrating. I never wanted to be that person. I love supporting that person, showering them in love, sending them positivity, but on the flip side, I don’t find myself worth receiving those things in return.

It’s a battle against self. Against my own thoughts, habits, and coping mechanisms. It’s acceptance, anger, sadness, and still some denial. It’s a lot of things, that I’m just starting to unpack. Right now, I feel defeated, like I’ll never grow, or get better, but I know those feelings won’t last long, and I know this won’t be the last time I feel them. So, for now, I’m focusing on the things I can change, and trying to stress less, the things I can’t.