black pen across my paper

i scribble and scibble

to draw the pain away

and write the memories gone

its all too much

i need an escape

but this time i take out a knife

and the scribbles are no longer black

- deathetix

i wish my heart was

still mine to give

and not yours to take

to do with as you wish

i wish i

could wish hurt upon you

like you did when

you carved your name into skin

So I could never forget you

Tattoos can always be erased

But scars will always remain

Even when I start to forget

A curious eye will remind me

i wish i could wish

hurt upon you

like you did when

You filled my head with hot air

I stab my head to let the pressure out

And have to turn my blood into ink

to keep myself sane

the phantom ache in my chest

from the invisible bullet

you shot me with

I have to keep pressing on the wound

just to stop the hemorraging

I’ll never recover

No doctor can fix me

No medicine will take

I can only numb the pain

With your drug

So I guess you've won

Yet again

To want more than the everyday list of accomplishments.

Congratulations you woke up,

showered,

got dressed,

kept the kids alive.

Choosing comfort

over

and over

and over.

Comfort turned to complacency.

Sacrificing more than you ever should.

Only now beginning to understand the weight you've been carrying.

Pretending it's baby weight.

Modeling yourself as the Madonna of motherhood.

The ultimate saint

you decided to martyr your soul for the mistakes of your 20s.

This is your broken life.

Gathering the pieces everyday

sticking them together with makeup, hair spray, clothes, heels,

until you disintegrate back into the million broken pieces

only to do it again tomorrow.

Is there anything stronger

more permanent

you wonder as you stare into the mirror

Worrying constantly what will happen when your children leave.

You will have nothing but your ugly,

barren unfulfilled soul to greet you every morning.

I was hurt very deeply by a lot of people. Emotionally by my brother, physically by a relative, and mentally by kids at my school, in my class. I believed that I was not worth anything, I believed that I was alone, I felt abandoned, and that no one loved me. It really hurt. So, I started hurting myself. Cutting, suffocation, bruising, concussions. Because I wanted to fit in, and be loved. It was rough. But there was freedom. It took a while, and it’s still coming. I have long term trauma pain, and it still hurts sometimes, but it is healing. My mind is healing, my heart is healing. It hurts a lot when it first happens, but we got to keep pressing on, and not giving up. I’m still alive and breathing, you’re still alive and breathing, and God still has a plan for your life and for mine. It really hurts right now, but it’s gonna get better.

It hurts to know that I don't help as much as I should. I am lazy. My mom and dad work to keep the house up and flourishing. And what do I do? Sit, draw, write, read, and school (not to mention eat). it makes me cry at night. I feel hopeless. What should I really be doing? my heart hurts. I feel as if I make my parents' hearts hurt. I tease my siblings, don't study enough, and drink up the milk. I don't know how to fix it. I try, I don't succeed. It hurts.

I would like to chat, she said.

About anything in particular?

No, she said. Just a chat.

Would like to. Just a chat.

Stephanie was on a mission, one of devastation. And I could feel it; sitting at my desk job that day, I already knew. My behavior at her bachelorette party had been appalling.

Later I walked up the steps to her house, and we had The Devastating Conversation.

“I’m confused.” “What was your goal with that?” “Are you capable of having an adult conversation?”

And looking back, maybe I shouldn’t have walked out on her married or taken bridesmaids, discussing their intimate lives with their husbands, boyfriends.

Their perfect relationships, their Ability To Hold Down a Man.

You are more than your mental illness. You are better than this.

Coming from someone who had had police escorts take her home three times for public drunkenness just three years prior, I was appalled by her callousness.

Couldn’t she see I was suffering?

~

Days later in the psych hospital, I got a call from Stephanie.

“I think I’m going to focus on my relationship with my fiancé.

I should have established boundaries with you.

“But I don’t own the west coast. There’s plenty of room for you here!”

Of course there fucking is, sis.

~

I had slammed the front door in her face the night of our Devastating Conversation, and later I called to apologize for this lapse in self-control.

It was never about the front door. It was about you not being who I need you to be.

And when I drove myself to the ER to be 51/50’d, I thought: we can recover from this.

~

She was the first person I texted after leaving the psych hospital. No response.

And there is still no response.

~

What did I learn?

I’m not legally allowed to purchase firearms in the state of California for five years.

And that makes me smile.

I’m staying in California.

There are people who don’t wash their hands unless they’re peer pressured to.

What the hell were people doing before all these demonstrations of how to properly wash hands with blue paint? Has elementary school health education not drilled the 20-second rule into the roots of daily function? The stark contrast in hand soap and hand sanitizer sales is really astonishing, but at the same time, I’m not that surprised. Americans are literally protesting in the streets as if the virus can be negotiated with.

A lady literally cut a slit in a surgical mask. Yeah, I guess she is wearing one, but when asked, she literally said, “I know we’re supposed to wear these, but it’s really hard to breathe and talk, so I cut a hole. You should too.” She cut a hole into a mask because it was hard to breathe and talk normally. You know what else makes it hard to breathe and talk normally? COVID-19

I can’t tell you what kind of pain this is. You just understand it or you identify with her.

The truth escaped me for the majority of my life. Now approaching 40 I know. I know that my Mother is toxic. I am hurting that I was made to be her self esteem, her approval, her value, her constant companion in thought and action. I am hurting, the pain is far reaching, and even further in depth. Like a duck caught in a oil spill. It all feels so consuming and raw. I am hurting because I won't ever be able to talk to her about it. She plays the martyer well and with ease. It will be tourned around on me or dismissed. That's gonna hurt too.

I want a do over

The cards were rigged against me

In the hand fate dealt

Memories that hurt

Even after all this time I’m lost

Brought down by regret