You remind me of all the things I left behind, the back and forth, an unsteady load. Ready to drop, dump, explode. Dragging the happiness, the thin threads born, and set fires to destroy them, until there’s nothing more. Return to wonder, why all the scars, when every conversation is a burden or a chore. Name changes, his face placed over yours, shortened tempers, and more fights. You can’t tell me you don’t remember those nights.

Time passes, less is said, strangers in the same bed. You dream of when you knew me, I dream of never known you at all. The difference seems so small. The abyss tells a different tale. The distance no more the issue than the depth of the pain; a long trip to hell. How far can one fall and get back up again? Why fall at all, when bridges are there, yet you jump and I push you over the edge. Step by step we could’ve had it all, the lack of patience created a never ending fall.

False Pictures

The dream began with the flashing of a smile, hope pressed between tongue and cheek. a vision of deep brown. The pressing of chocolate and warmed honey, seeping into pieces that haven’t seen light. The stems caress, releasing the smell of wanton need, colors dripping upon the canvas, drops splashing, trailing along the curves. Between the land and the sea, what was found was again lost to me. Between the waves and the bed, the dream was swept away. Lost, pulled into the deep, curiosity, lack of direction pulled; until it was just too deep.

I can’t talk to you anymore, it seems to be at, but to a wall not a person, and my time seems lost. I wonder more and more, about time cashed in, never to be seen again. Maybe we were friends, or two sinners making excuses for the things we did. I sought the same thing, and lose it in the hope of what could be, never seeing what is until the thrumming of need becomes a docile pitter patter, lost rhythms into silent beats.

I am One

Not to be cliche, but, as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with loving myself and wanting to live. To me it’s not a morbid conversation. A big portion of my life I’ve self harmed and struggled with suicidal thoughts. I’ve functioned, and at times, barely functioned as I dealt with an amplitude of mental, physical and emotional attacks.

I’m not generally an unhappy person; at least not now that I have more control over my life. Before the last couple years, I thought depression was something I’d inherited for being, as my stepfather put it “an evil child”. That it was the reaped curse of karma, and that I was just an unhappy person who loved misery. But as I’ve grown, I’ve realized that’s not the case. Yes I have seconds, minutes, moments, days, weeks even where I can’t make life make sense, but overall, I love my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve learned to see that the struggles and adversities give me opportunities to grow and be better.

My point is, people who self harm or who struggle with suicidal thoughts are often plagued with shame. I choose to ignore that pressure tonight and share that I’m one of those people. Ignoring the fear, the panic, and the almost debilitating need to ctrl + a + backspace…I’m speaking on it. Because I know too many people who hide these feelings. Who are afraid, like I am, and because of that fear and shame are even more burdened by the struggles they go through…that we go through.

Tonight I just want to encourage those of us triggered and fighting our own minds to keep fighting. That even though no one can see you tearing yourself apart, I know the battle, and I’m here to listen. That the shame won’t always be there if you try little by little to tell it a girl (or boy or gender tag) has no shame. That with time, we can make it, and the current pain will be in the past.


That vague feeling, not real, but remembering what the separation felt like. The hiss and sigh of relief to know it was controlled, not a random force dragging you to the pit, you were choosing to go. Isn’t that better? To know when you want you can also choose to leave, but when their nails hook into the fattiness of your calf what was left but the anchor of remembering? Let it fill your lungs, the disappointment, like a bleach soaked rag, erasing the color, but not the trail. The throbbing reminds you, you’re alive, the heart strum more a dream than reality. What would it matter, you’re remembering.


I’m in a unique position for my life, but a transitional period like many others I’ve had, will have, and have witnessed others having.

I don’t feel like I’m failing, which is new for me. Normally I feel like I’m going to fail in a blaze of hellish glory, but this time I feel confident and I’m almost excited (mixed with small doses of dread) about how things are changing.

One of the slightly annoying things that has happened as a side effect of all the changes, is the migraines are back. I’ve had one going on two weeks tomorrow. Most days it’s a fly in my ear, and I can manage around it, but sometimes it’s unbearable. Being on the phone and calling people all day (phone ringing) can make my brain feel like it’s actually rattling. Between that and the pain being ridiculous, I feel like I’ve had opportunity after opportunity to cut up, as I have in the past; not this time. I have been oddly mopey and even more strangely quiet at work, but no lashing out. Even still, I want to do better, because on the days when it’s really bad, like earlier today, I still feel like I’m too short tempered.

It has been mentally fatiguing, I’ve been a bit sluggish, and that’s been hard for me to accept. I’m used to being quick tongued, clear headed, but maybe less and less in the last couple years. But the moments when I can taste a word, but can’t remember it. When I know I’ve forgotten something, but can’t remember exactly what I forgot it tears me down a little. (this fact being one of the few reasons I cried during Dory- the one thing she could remember was that she would forget everything). But one thing I remember constantly, is when Cub told me to keep at it. The more I try, the more I use my words, or think or challenge myself, the better I’ll be able to handle it when I do feel sluggish. It’s been working, and the down moments are spread out so even though it still feels like trash sometimes.

So, even though it looks bad, and feels bad, I know that to get great increase, you have to make your way to it, and that adversity will come swinging full force. This life will give you whatever you give it, and it will give you force for the things that you want. That’s why people rather stay stagnant than change; it’s easier. But I don’t want an easy life, I want challenge, I want more. And even though I was naive, to think I could pick and choose the battles I knew I could win, the one’s being thrown at me still get the underside of my boots.


Who are you to seek understanding from others when

you have none for your self. To ask someone to wait until

—  are ready to commit. Why bother with the questions or

—r promises of change, knowing it’s a façade to keep

—r pain at bay.

Do the drugs feel better than her love? Fill

a space you can’t seem to fill, for real? That temporary high, the

smoke, the snort, the needle, the pill. Was it better than her

hands rubbing, caressing, giving you something real?

Will it be worth losing her, worth the lies, and secrets, knowing

you broke the deal.

Does it feel right, knowing you keep things from her, when the goal

is to be come o n e. Or in your mind is it just an empty shotgun.

Is her heart as cold as you think, if it is why do you bother giving her

your own, when you think she has nothing to give you in return.

Do you think she will stay? That love is enough for her to turn her

eyes the other way.

At adulthood,

There’s this idea that we just want to hold on to our high school years. Maybe not the act of actually being in school, but the ability to have less responsibility and have as much fun that we want. I know people, now, who still live life like they’re teenagers. They have responsibilities, but their lack of foresight has caused them significant lack in their own lives.

But why?

This question has been on my mind heavily.

What causes us to lose focus? To stay so stagnant that by the time we peak our heads out we are years behind all the people we used to enjoy spending time with; minus the few still “having fun”.


But what is more fearful than losing the one you love because you are inadequate? Than no one wanting to be with you because they don’t want to take care of you or fix you.

What is more fearful than people looking at you, knowing you, and saying “you’ll never be more than what you are?”


For those who have had limited to no success or accomplishments in life, maybe the fear IS succeeding. The idea that they could be more, could it paralyze them from growing up?

What happens to these people as they get older? Do you end up homeless? Or the son or daughter in the basement who never gets a place of their own, never holds a good job, and has nothing to claim as their own. Are they free or are do they feel caged?

What slows down their mobility?

As a doer, as someone who has been stagnant, as someone who has been afraid of success and of failing, as someone who has succeeded and failed, I wonder how people get stuck at just one of those phases. What life must be like to not know how to transition?

Can that be taught? Do we have books on that? How do you even begin to help someone who struggles in those areas without being overwhelmingly frustrated by their inadequacies?

I have so many questions.

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