Tear Me Down

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

Tear me down with your passion so that I may know you care. Strike me with your verbs and cause the consonants to fall from my body. Through tears of pain I can see clearly at last. From being broken, I can finally start to heal.

Water me with your compassion so I know I will never be alone. Shelter me with your care and cause the falling terrors to find no home here. Through the constant pelting from above I am reminded that the world is still forever close. From your comfort I can finally catch my breath.

I ask a favor as a last resort. Expecting neither passion or compassion, I strike out at even those that shelter me. I unknowingly cause my own pain and welcome the night terrors into my bed each night. Healing can only take place with my last breath… a breath soon to…

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That numbness…

After an episode of about 2:30 hours.

All my anger reflecting in my body’s muscles, all my sadness reflecting in my face.

I said the truth to my friend, about my feelings.

The sadness I feel and how I feel she’s distancing herself from me.

She answers nothing.

One by one they leave me… they go farther away.

Alone, alone, alone.

I must get that stuck in my head.

Because it’s imminent and I have to be ready because this time there will not be a “support group”.

This time it’s all me, it’s all my asshole mind and me trying to not jump off a building.

Trying not to put head in the oven, trying to just… give up and stop eating and moving.

Becoming a living ghost.


That numbness that comes after crying and crying.

And a couple of Klonopins, too.

All this mucus in my head making me feel dizzy.

Temporary relief.

Weed time.

I must try to recuperate.

Until my pills let me hold this horrible feeling inside me and it just explodes out of me.

Polluted liquid.

Arriving home, alone again. A hole in the middle of my chest.

Can’t hold it in, not a minute longer.

Liquid polluted with anger and sadness escapes my body through my eyes.

I feel it fall down my cheeks until it stops and dries on my face.

Kneeling down on the floor, my arms try to separate my face from this surface.

A moment of relief after shaking and hyperventilating…

I’m able to stand up.

Then the same feeling overflows me and tries escaping with no success.

On the floor, next to me, I can see drops of this polluted liquid shine.

It mocks me… as it did not help me get rid of these feelings.

The act starts now.

Festivities, oh joy.

But this, the end of the year… when everyone is thanking whomever or whatever for making it another year… this fucking sucks.

What I wanted to do: Drink, hang out… be under the influence of various substances… forget.

What I will be doing: Holding back my tears while I pretend there is no such thing as depression as I eat (and hopefully drink ?) with family.

The thoughts my mind will make me go through while next to my grandmother or stepfather… or nephew.Racing thoughts of self destruction while I wear my poker face.

It’s physically exhausting.

At least the side of my mom’s family knows not to ask what I am doing with my life.I’ll be going because my mom asked me to. Because she thinks it will do me good. Because she wants to be with me… but the me she wants to be with is not crying or angry. The me she wants to be with is the one that acts like nothing is wrong. The me that stares at walls during conversations… just trying to push those thoughts away.

Seeing as I can’t seem to do anything to make my family feel less like shit about my existence… I will go and I will pretend.

I hope someday I get payed for each fake smile.

Or… that these fake smiles become real.

Congrats on this new year.

My nails look ok.

But I don’t.

It’s been almost a week that I constantly cry.

Sometimes it just gets so out of control that I don’t know what to do.

The Depakote isn’t working like it was a month ago… so they upped my Seroquel.

I don’t like waking up.

Here I am… awake, with nothing to do.

A lot to do, actually.

I started cleaning my room.

Most of it was trowing away useless shit I grew attached to and old clothes.

Didn’t finish cleaning, my room is even messier.

I get like one day of energy per month.

That’s my fucking quota.

I almost don’t even go outside… my windows are rarely open.

Seems I’ll be ending the year as unstable as I started it.

Oh, and of course, my psychiatrist asked me if I wanted to get hospitalized.

Yay.

Nothing like knowing even my doctors don’t know what the fuck else to drug me with.

But my nails are colored dark blue, and I like them…

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