Death is sitting heavy on my mind today.
Your death, untimely and sharp. Hitting nerves I didn’t even know I had.
My death, and how you ripped a part of me out and shoved it six feet under where you rest now.
Almost 2 years later and I haven’t had the chance to grieve, because the part of me that accepts my feelings has been dead since I turned 14. But every now and then it gets stirred up. When I read words that resonate with you. Or songs that remind me that pain is never permanent, but tonight it’s killing me. Or movies and shows that bring the reality of funeral days forward. When April, turns to may. And may drags on like a nuse from a rope, and then the 31st carved your name out of my chest and I can’t breath because how could I when i there’s not closure and the guilt eats every breath I try to take?
Those little things that I thought were mine Did they ever belong to me? Or do they belong to the old warn out hands wrapped around your throat?
Body dysmorphia:Not just your regular self esteem issues, but a horribly painful obsession.
Yesterday I avoided mirrors, I didn’t look into window reflections, or see myself at all. Today, I stood in front of my full length mirror for 30 minutes. I saw things that made my stomach turn. It honestly makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I can’t explain to you the feeling of looking at yourself, but not seeing anything but the flaws. And not just regular flaws, your flaws magnified by a thousand because according to them your self image is deluded. I picked my skin to make sure it was smooth. I redid my makeup, and made sure everything was covered up. I brushed my hair, and sprayed it with millions of products to make sure it was perfect.
I changed my outfit 10 times before deciding to just stay home.
I found myself in the last place I saw you. And your name was right in front of me.
I guess you came to say hello, and to tell me you didn’t want to see me yet.
I lay there with vomit streaked hair, and bloody palms. Weightless and suspended.
My clenched fists hiding tiny pink pills
I said goodbye that day. And I meant it. The last few months have been stale, and if that’s a part of who I am well I don’t want a future. Everyday since then I’ve died. When I close my eyes at night, I don’t dream, I flashback to that night, slit wrists and being carried out by strangers. I feel the straps holding me down to the stretcher. That same trapped feeling I’ve known so well.
But then I wake and I see their faces starring at me like I am broken. Starring at me like I scarred them. Which I probably have, and probably will again. I make no promises, and I make no decisions. Here I am, today, heavy and restraint. My tired eyes hiding an entire tsunami.
I’m not sure where the guilt comes from, maybe the obsessive behaviours of looking into the past. I reach out for the pain, and the past lovers that marked each of your palms. Each cut on my arm digs deeper into the shadows that I cannot control. And to the things I can’t go back and change. And so I’ll wander and break, until my mind goes limp and the ground falls under.
How do you say goodbye when the guilt sits like an anchor on your chest?But how can you not say goodbye when you know what it feels like to have none of the closure you wanted.
How do you live when each day feels like swallowing broken glass?
But how do you die when the ones you love need you in their life
So How do you breathe
When there’s no air left
Blank stares, in a blank room.They said this was temporary.
It’s not just emptiness, it’s also fullness. Being completely over taken by these feelings that are so inconsistently ruining my life.
The way I hurt, hurts everyone else. My sadness becomes theirs, and I’m selfish because I hate that, it’s my own suffering, not anyone more’s.
And so I’ll slip into my dreams tonight, and I will stay there until the dark takes over and my heartbeat goes under.
This illness isn’t temporary but my life is.