I am so high and I’m craving human contact but all I can do is touch myself and pretend it’s not me

This is not meant to be a sob story.
This is a poem to make you understand.

In the past year alone,
I have attempted suicide 4 times.
In the past year,
the police have come to my house 2 times.
In the past year I ran out of resources
and had to check myself into a treatment center.

In the treatment center,
there was a girl who had
welts on her arm deeper than mine.
It looked like she had
punched her fist through
a glass window
the way life had punched
the life out of her.

In the treatment center
there was a girl who had hallucinations
about a man standing in the corner
that terrified her so much
that she couldn’t stand still.

In the year before the last one,
I had two suicide attempts.
I was checked into an ER for my overdose
then a psychiatric hospital.

This is a poem about all the people
who have been bounced back to a hospital
every time they thought they got their life back together
only to let their mental illness catch them off guard again.

This is a poem for all the people
who are so weak that they
cannot stand on their own.

This is a poem for the people
whose eating disorders are so strong
that they will refuse food
even when they weigh 70 pounds
and are forced by hospital staff
to be fed by a tube.

This is a poem for the people
who have more hospital bracelets
than they do friends.

This is a poem about
how I have to take 8 pills a day
to function somewhat normally.

This is a poem about how I had
to drop out of public school
because my mental illness
has interfered with my eating,
my breathing, my sleeping,
and my ability to live.

This is a poem about
how I cannot count the number of people
who have told me they wanted to die
on two hands.

This is a poem about the 400,000
emergency room visits
for self inflicted injury in 2001.

This is a poem for the 30,622 
people who committed suicide in 2001.

This is a poem for everybody with a mental illness
who is more scared of being judged
than they are of death.

This is a poem for everybody who
has wanted to bleed away their pain.
This is a poem for everyone
that wanted to disappear,
hoping that if they shot themselves,
if they crashed their car,
that if they jumped off the roof of a building,
that they might shatter.

This is a poem for everyone
who has tried to choke the pain
out of their life.
This is a poem for everyone who hoped
that an overdose would be a peaceful death.

This is a fuck you to every hallucination,
every manic episode, every depressive episode,
every flashback, every panic attack, every nightmare,
every suicide attempt, every hospital visit,
every purge, every laxative, every crash diet,
every single doctor that told you you were doing it for attention,
every single bully that didn’t know what they were driving you to,
every family member that ever looked at you like you were a freak,
everybody that ever told you to “get over it”,
everybody who told you that you were faking it.
Everybody who ever told you that it wasn’t a big deal.

Would you still be saying the same thing at our funerals?
Do us all a favor and tell us how beautiful
we “were” while we’re still alive.
How beautiful we are .

This is a poem for everyone who ever thought
the world would be better off without them.
This is poem for everyone who ever needed
somebody to just listen without judging.
This is a poem for everyone who just needs someone
to care or believe in them.

This is not meant to be a sad poem.
This is not a poem about overexaggeration.
It is a poem about reality.
It is a poem to finally make you understand.

We are more than statistics.
We are stories.

❝ How to love your depressed lover.
Last night I thought I kissed the loneliness from out your belly button. I thought I did, but later you sat up, all bones and restless hands, and told me there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo. I never know what to say to these things. “It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.” “Please don’t go away again.” Sometimes you are gone for days at a time and it is all I can do not to call the police, file a missing person’s report, even though you are right there, still sleeping next to me in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders. Except in this case I am the intruder and you are already locked up so tight that no one could possibly jimmy their way in. Last night I thought I gave you a reason not to be so sad when I held your body like a high note and we both trembled from the effort.
Some people, though, are sad against all reason, all sensibility, all love. I know better now. I know what to say to the things you admit to me in the dark, all bones and restless hands. “It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.” “Please come back to me again. ❞

(one) i ate a lot but i only gained 2 pounds but i still feel so bad and i can feel the fat on my belly and i hate it
it looks like I suddenly got pregnant and i just want it to be gone

(two) i went clothes shopping today, and i found out that i’m actually a size smaller than i originally thought and that made me feel happy because i’m always ashamed of buying clothes in size large-medium

(three) i miss my boyfriend so much and i really hope i get to see him tomorrow because it has been too long since i went over to his place. i just want to spend time with him as much as possible. being grounded sucks

that’s all the updates that i have, i guess. i think i won’t be eating this week.

❝ Introverts, in contrast, may have strong social skills and enjoy parties and business meetings, but after a while wish they were home in their pajamas. They prefer to devote their social energies to close friends, colleagues, and family. They listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation. They tend to dislike conflict. Many have a horror of small talk, but enjoy deep discussions. ❞
❝ When you decide to die, little things begin to happen. You stop looking both ways before you cross the street, you start answering the door without asking who’s there. You don’t hold onto the railing when you go down the escalator, you play with matches. You smoke, and breathe it in, actually praying it will make a difference. Deciding to die is actually almost nice, in a way. You stop caring. Even if you are not pro-actively looking for ways to kill yourself, you stop looking for ways to survive. ❞
❝ Some people are uncomfortable with silences. Not me. I’ve never cared much for call and response. Sometimes I will think of something to say and then I ask myself: is it worth it? And it just isn’t. ❞
❝ My life is made up of ‘I’m sorry’. I feel like I have to apologize to people, to things, to life itself. It’s like, ‘I’m sorry to be here’. I don’t want to disturb anyone. ❞
❝ Sometimes, I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow; there’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person - as if I never thought anything, never wrote anything, never felt anything. ❞

burnt myself with a cigarette today and the pain made me feel alive??
now there’s a “crater” on my hand where i pressed down the cigarette and it’ll probably be there forever and it looks really weird

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