strongheart
April 1st, 2008, 05:12 PM
Just needed to vent some of my thoughts. I'm going to share some of the stuff I've written. It is probably not going to make a lot of sense to some people but it feels good to share it.
I thought about the pills last night
the bottle full
my heart so light.
I thought about taking them all
and going to bed
and never waking up.
Would I regret it?
Could I save myself in time?
I thought about the pills last night.
They write,
back and forth,
giggles hitting me like shards of glass,
making my wounds re-open again
If I really don't matter,
then why smile, or glance in my direction,
just stop, I'l know what it means
and I'll shrink back into my own existence
a sad suffering hole of anxiety.
If you were to tell me,
I did something wrong, then,
maybe,
I could change it, I
would forgive you,
and blame myself, but I
hope
it is you who is at fault,
for I already
blame myself, while you,
act innocent.
I turn on those songs,
that, when played, stir up memories and make me cry.
cry,
even if I wasn't hurting myself, even
if I was happy, in that moment.
The words,
fill me up, with
an auburn colored syrup,
that leaks out through my eyes,
so why then, do I puck up the blade,
and mark myself with my own hatred,
for myself,
my own disgust and hurt and pain,
can be seen by
my eyes,
as
a reminder to what's inside.
This one is to my therapist:
If I could trust you,
I would bear my soul to you,
I would tell you everything,
no detail left out, it
only you could fix me.
But you,
can't, so I
keep it hidden inside, hoping
to fix it myself.
I, too,
can't, so I instead
do what I can,
I cut, I hurt, I hate
myself, until,
myself is no more.
If only for a day,
I could get on a bus,
have it drive away,
if only I could leave,
myself behind and instead escape my mind to somewhere
calm, and safe,
somewhere where I'm not scared,
of myself.
Another to my therapist:
Your past, could it be,
as bad as mine, I would
ask what happened, why, do you care,
so much,
about a girl, me,
who you will only know for a few,
months, why,
do you want to help me.
What happened to you, I wonder,
what happened, that hurt you,
and how, are you over it,
are you better, or are you,
even now, still
alone, and
suffering too.
Paper clips in a chain,
given to me by only an acquaintance
now symbolize much more,
a hand cuff, a band,
that shows how trapped I am.
The chain is unbreakable,
without a special maneuver,
which I do now yet know.
If I went to the hospital,
they would take the paper clips away,
they would break the chain,
and I would be free.
I thought about the pills last night
the bottle full
my heart so light.
I thought about taking them all
and going to bed
and never waking up.
Would I regret it?
Could I save myself in time?
I thought about the pills last night.
They write,
back and forth,
giggles hitting me like shards of glass,
making my wounds re-open again
If I really don't matter,
then why smile, or glance in my direction,
just stop, I'l know what it means
and I'll shrink back into my own existence
a sad suffering hole of anxiety.
If you were to tell me,
I did something wrong, then,
maybe,
I could change it, I
would forgive you,
and blame myself, but I
hope
it is you who is at fault,
for I already
blame myself, while you,
act innocent.
I turn on those songs,
that, when played, stir up memories and make me cry.
cry,
even if I wasn't hurting myself, even
if I was happy, in that moment.
The words,
fill me up, with
an auburn colored syrup,
that leaks out through my eyes,
so why then, do I puck up the blade,
and mark myself with my own hatred,
for myself,
my own disgust and hurt and pain,
can be seen by
my eyes,
as
a reminder to what's inside.
This one is to my therapist:
If I could trust you,
I would bear my soul to you,
I would tell you everything,
no detail left out, it
only you could fix me.
But you,
can't, so I
keep it hidden inside, hoping
to fix it myself.
I, too,
can't, so I instead
do what I can,
I cut, I hurt, I hate
myself, until,
myself is no more.
If only for a day,
I could get on a bus,
have it drive away,
if only I could leave,
myself behind and instead escape my mind to somewhere
calm, and safe,
somewhere where I'm not scared,
of myself.
Another to my therapist:
Your past, could it be,
as bad as mine, I would
ask what happened, why, do you care,
so much,
about a girl, me,
who you will only know for a few,
months, why,
do you want to help me.
What happened to you, I wonder,
what happened, that hurt you,
and how, are you over it,
are you better, or are you,
even now, still
alone, and
suffering too.
Paper clips in a chain,
given to me by only an acquaintance
now symbolize much more,
a hand cuff, a band,
that shows how trapped I am.
The chain is unbreakable,
without a special maneuver,
which I do now yet know.
If I went to the hospital,
they would take the paper clips away,
they would break the chain,
and I would be free.