Please, don’t judge, there is really no structure to this poem, but it’s not a story, or a “post”. But tonight was a really bad night, and I let my pen just scrawl along.
I feel the familiar “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” of the blood in my ears.
My heart is racing, pulse is 120.
There’s a buzzing in my body.
I’m sweating, everywhere, even my legs.
My brain is going to dark, dark, places.
I want to see the red blood coming out of my arms.
I want to see the raised skin of the scratch.
I want to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.
I want my brain to stop.
FAT, UGLY, HIDEOUS, GROSS.
Bad mom, yeller, ineffective.
Bad wife, “makes” hubby do all the cooking and clean
up from meals, undermines his discipline.
LOSER, CAN’T FINISH ANYTHING, STUPID
Will never change.
Always a victim.
Don’t SHINE, am a disappointment.
Not good enough, NEVER enough.
Undermines my own dreams.
I sit, tears brimming, threatening to spill over.
I sit at my desk all the things I used to use to cut at my disposal.
But I can’t cut, no matter how much I want to, I’m on blood thinners. I don’t want to ruin my kids’ life any more than I already have.
So I push it down, down, down. The whooshing, shaking, and sweating gets worse. My head pounds too.
How long can I do this? How long will I have to do this?
No one is going to save me, or the little girl inside. Together we will drown and choke on our labels; the labels of rejection and the labels we give ourselves. Never truly happy; never truly whole—