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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.

Bad Reception

Dial tone

No ones home

Just the thoughts inside me

Simple words can not miss

Yet simple words are what you get

I am an adult who feels to much

Sees to much

Hears to much

I have been through to much

Yet all in all

It is not enough

Words confuse me

Bring me pain

I know I sound childish

Possibly insane

Alas

There is nothing there

In my brain

Just a dial tone

To show no ones home.

I can see her

I can see her body floating as I close my eyes. I can see her hurting in every way imaginable as I stand by unable to do a thing. Sometimes I am dying and sometimes I am not. Either way I am always out of reach. I put my hand towards her, grasping, for just a touch. But I never make it, not in time anyways. I watch the light fade from her eyes. I watch as her beautiful smile twist into a look of pain.

This is my everyday nightmare.

As I close my eyes I see her dying. I see her suffering in unimaginable ways. I can’t do anything but watch. Either dead or alive I am always reaching for her.

This is my everyday. When I try to talk to people about it they just call me paranoid or don’t understand.

I can’t sleep unless she is beside me but there are days when that makes it worse. I take every pill the doctor gives me. Say my prayers before bed. Yet nothing is working.

I can see her hurting and I can’t make it stop.

Every day my daughter dies and I know it is all my fault.

Say it with me

I like the words low self-esteem. That makes it seem like there is hope. That one day it can come back.

Now zero self-esteem, that is a different story. That means there is no chance of it coming back without some outside help.

But how can we go about life lacking it and expect others to help us. We are always being told that if we do not love ourselves then no one else will love us. So what if a person hates themselves with a passion, does that mean that they will always be alone?

I like to think that there is a chance they can be happy. It will just take someone from the outside to help them see the light.

She used to be hopeful

She used to try

She used to smile

Once upon a time

A bright future a head of her

But her head in the clouds

She used to be normal

Then she was found

In a backend ally

With her knees on the ground

Surrounded by people

But lost in the sound

She used to be everything

She used to be love

Now she is nothing

Someone we all judge

Needle in her arm

And hate in her heart

How did this happen

What tore her world apart?

She used to be helpful

She used to be wise

She used to be everything

In her loved ones eyes

But now she is found

Laying in the ground

Surrounded by people

But lost in the sound

Of her own imagination

Of her own mistakes

She used to full of life

And now she slowly breaks

Needle in her arms

Blood on her legs

Crawling on the ground

To get away from the people

That roughly surround

She wants to be lost

Stuck in her own sound

Not worth it

People are not worth trusting. They all lie, every single last person, I hate it so much. I wish I could just find some place to be alone. Some place where no one can hurt me but myself.

Where it is safe to be me and just simmer in my pain. But I can’t, I have responsibilities that make it so I have to stay here. So I go on pretending that everything is ok when it is not. I get my hopes up only to be shot down in the end.

I hate people. I hate people so much and I hate myself most of all.

Cut and Burn

It burns inside.

The urge to do some harm to a vital part of me.

All the while screaming for some form of release.

‘Someone fucking save me from this hell.’

Yet I know no one will.

I am all alone with a dull blade.

Ready to cut but can’t seem to figure out where.

I want it to hurt

I need it to hurt

I can feel it before I start to slice.

Take awhile to get things right.

Decided to just push with all my might

Since I made them hide the good knives.

Tiles floors splattered red

Favorite place cause the walls always stare

I like to think that this is the only room that care

It burns inside of me now

The urge to cut till I am there

Holding a dull blade against my vitals

Screaming for some release

‘You had your chance to fucking save me’

Though I know no one is there

A cut that is quickly fading

The door tells me what a good girl I am