A Sudden Disinterest

I contemplated praying the other day when I saw my mother crying. An irresistible urge to comfort her in the only way she knows how. But I digested the feeling and found it lacking…something.

A certain flavor to give rise to my struggles. Not things I share with those flawed like me but something I quickly lust about to those others who believe. Others who are so far from me but still people I love.

I saw my mother crying and wanted to give comfort in the only way she knew how. Copy the posture beaten into me and speak past a jaw wired shut. But there was something wrong with this image. This debatable fiction layed out before me.

I tried to bring up the images of those I despise with such a passionate love that it can only be fate. Oh how I tried to push them away but when I needed them most they stood by. Watching my mother with regretful tears in her eyes. Me on my knees easing my hands on high!

But I distress with this taste in my mouth most foul and tamed. Struggling past the restraint to say amen.

After Motherhood

I once cursed a friend for not caring. She laid her hand on my growing belly and told me I was lying about the pain. Stretch marked marred my flesh and yet she begged me to cry. Said it would help if I just downplayed my emotions.

Feelings hurt the baby you see.

Every laugh

Every cry

The baby feels it.

She felt that I was lying about the pain. Said it would go away as she stroked my aching breast. The one dripping milk upon her dust filled carpet. Tugging away only brought her closer. Her words like ember upon my burning flesh.

A child lay dying inside of me and yet she said it was worth it.

I should be happy with the gift given to me. The chance to explore feelings once more. My happiness at being with child destroyed its very soul.

There should be no pain, at least that is what she is telling me.

Running her hand along my slit as I force the heart from my body. Grey tones and broken bones but I should feel no pain. It isn’t worth it, she said, it’s all a lie.

I cursed a friend for not caring. For saying that my pain was fake. She told me I was lying as I laid my heart to rest. But I guess the curse was worth it.

I was told

I was told a story about something painful. As if death is anything but.

There are times when hearing about a person dying does nothing for me. I have watched gory videos and laughed over creepypasta post while drinking my herbal tea. I have sliced my wrist and burned sins into my skin in hopes that it would all go away. Honestly, death is nothing but a friend.

Yet, there are times when I find myself crying over it. I do not understand how my greater craving can be my nightmare. Death astounds me with its grace and yet, here I am suffering.

A loved one has passed away and I do not know what to do. I do not know how to feel….

I am just numb to it all.

But everything I write suggest otherwise. I cant concentrate on school cause I begin to think about him. I begin to miss a man I haven’t seen in years. A man broken by a war I wasn’t alive to witness. So much so little kids had to stay silent in his presence. I miss him and I do not know why. He was the kindest man but I can’t remember a damn thing he did. I barely remember his voice and yet I miss him.

I regret the fact that no one trusted me enough to love him.

Because I can’t say I love a person I wasn’t given a chance to know. I hate myself for never reaching out. But how could I when every sound I made took him right back to the battle field.

I miss him all the same.

Screaming

I am afraid to vent

Cause you’ll grab a gun and your brain will splatter

And right in the same matter you’ll write

And repent

And ask me what I meant

As though it isn’t already to late

I lost a bet and you choice the date

To fuck it all up but blame me for the mistake

Because it is

A mistake

One that I am unable to accept as anything but my own

Cause your gone now

No one is home

All because I couldn’t vent

Couldn’t tell you what it all meant

When I would sign in pillow

Lie a little when you asked

grabbed a baseball bat to pass the time

As though all would be all right with a little fucking excessive exercise

It is my fault my mistakes my lost fate

That gave you a reason to choose that fucking date

Did you lose focus before you felt the beed to bleed

Leave me to grieve for things I can not see

I was already in pain so why the fuck did you leave

Did you think it will fix everything?

A repetition to the same problem

Now what am I suppose to do?

I can’t vent

Tell the world what I meant

Make them understand this mistake

For your sake

I am hope you are happy in that new place

Time is art

At the time, dying sounded like a good time. I had it all planned out. Every last detail to the minute to the hour. Everything was to be beautiful.

What I didn’t have planned was the sound of my daughter crying. Her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Pieces I wasn’t there to pick up. My death was supposed to be beautiful. No one was suppose to feel sad just joy.

I wanted the world to be better. I didn’t account for the fact that my mother would lose the ability to speak. I figured she would be ok. But for the first time in her life I see her speechless with no sight of it returning.

My death, so lovingly planned. Everything perfect. Yet, my father, I have never heard him scream so loud. So long had I wanted to see some emotion but now I fear the sound will never end. His screams reach me in my coffin. I believe I will never forget the sound of my father bawling.

Shh the babies are sleeping

I am not a good person but I am just that, a person. I have my flaws like everyone else. I have moments that make others believe I am insane. I am not a good parent but I try to be the best I can be. I am not the perfect daughter but I strive to make my mom proud of me.

It hurts to admit my faults to others. When society tries it’s hardest to make us reach for greatness, for perfection.

I want to do good. I want to better than this. I want the big house, the nice car, the wonderful attentive family, and to be mentally stable. I am not though. With my current state of mind, I will probably never be. And I hate it, I hate having to tell people how fucked up I am.

Hate it when they give me that haunted look of pity. It drives me insane!

Now people can tell me to keep my life to myself but I am not one to pretend. I am not the type to have people believe it is ok when it is not.

Now, that isn’t to say I am a complete downer. I have my moments just like everyone else.

It is just that I use no filter in my life. I try to be honest about it and that sometimes gets me judged.

That is I do not go around telling complete strangers my business. Just those I think will care.

Ok yes, this is me telling complete strangers but considering I rarely ever get any comments on my post it feels almost like I am talking to myself.

I can say what I feel and only occasionally will someone message me with kinds words or advice. I need the help but talking to myself will work just as well.

I cry a lot when I am alone.

Usually when my daughter is sleeping. I try to stay quiet so that I will not wake her but sometimes I fail. So I have tried alternatives to crying. Other ways in which I can get these horrible emotions out of my body. Writing helps but it only goes so far.

Still,  I am trying. I cry so silently now that she doesn’t wake up at all. Sometimes I go check on her when I am sad. My tears often blurring my vision so I am forced to sit there and calm down.

I know that I am a terrible person. I know that I make all kinds of mistakes.

I am not a good mother

daughter

sister

friends

I am shit with every title I have

but I do try.

Permission

CW:Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, depression and parenting.

My daughter has never really experienced death. The only way I could explain things to her is that when people die they change. Thier bodies break down and they become other. Tress, grass, flowers, but not just plants.

This hurt her of course. She is only four yet I needed to explain why I cried when I held her grandmothers photo. Sure she wasn’t blood but she meant so much to me.

My daughter has little memory of her. Try as I might she has now forgotten her.

There are days I cry cause I know she is disappointed in me.

I explained to my little one that grandma is a flower. A beautiful Daisy just like her. One day I will be a flower as well. I want to be a lily or lavender. Those are among mt favorites.

I get sad a lot. Some days I want to be a flower as soon as possible but others I do not mind the wait. Last night was horrible. I cried a lot as I held my daughter and told her I wished I could be a flower. She told me that she didnt want me to leave. That being a flower wasn’t a good thing.

She denied my request to leave.

I sent my daughter to bed then promptly self mutilated to stop the pain. I learned long ago that I am a terrible person but I love my daughter with all my soul. Instead of cutting like I wanted to, I held a blade against my arm and pressed down. It never broke past the first two layers. I figured it would be enough to ground me but it wasn’t.

So I heated the blade and tried it that way. This time it worked. The pain was glorious and I found instant relief.

But

I messaged a suicide chatline anyways. The burning faded way to quickly. I had no desire to die but I wanted to hurt. I wanted to be in control of the pain. To channel it to a more manageable location.

I will not lie and say that this was bot a mistake, cause it was. So many things could have gone wrong. In that moment I needed it but I could have done something else.

I know this now.

But it doesn’t take away from the desire to want to do it again.