hold me
before i wake up
before this numbness is gone
and i can feel again
hold me
so that these memories don’t come back
so that these bruises don’t reappear
like flowers blooming on my hips
the evidence of my nightmare
hold me
so that i am trapped in this dream
this numbness is my safe haven
all i want is to lie here
mid-way to death
before your hands force me to life again.
you make me feel
like your fingers are peeling open my mind
turning it inside out
forcing my nails across a chalkboard
leaving white trails
a warning
a taste
of everything that is to come.
brown
blue
green
they were all so beautiful
in your hair
they reminded me of sunshine
and of green pastures
and i could only watch
as another
flooded it with fire.
your hands
are wrinkled
and tired
and calloused
more so with every touch
almost as if
your youth
was dissolving
into me
like a happy pill
in water
effervescent
questioning
its own existence
while giving away
what little it had.
There are days when I can’t bring myself to face the world. My head and heart feels empty – as if there is nothing left to live for. Getting out of bed, going to college and risking a breakdown is too much to handle. And yet, I don’t want to stay where I am – at home – because I know that staying here will bring back unwanted memories, and I will breakdown anyway.
Breakdowns are not good, I have decided. Painful, agonizing tears – and your head hurts to the point where you’d rather rip it off. Every breath feels short, unfulfilling. I clutch my throat, tears wetting my pillow, trying to get a gasp that will let me live. My brain does not help – filling my eyes with images of all the things I have, all the things I do not deserve and all the things I will eventually lose. Somewhere, at the back of my head, I fear someone will enter the room and see my state. Deeper still, there is the fear that they will see it, and do nothing.
I have to try harder to be happy. They want me to be happy.
I force myself out of the house because that is what is expected of me. I have to be the sweet, caring and happy girl everyone thinks I am.
I try not to think too much on such days, try to block out every single thought. I put on headphones purely to shut out the world. There is no music. Music would make me cry. I make sure I am wearing a hoodie, or at least something large enough to hide me if I breakdown. If it gets out of hand – there is always the blade to help it stop.
Some days turn out surprisingly good – a switch that turns on – and my mood changes.
Some days I fail – I end up screaming and crying the minute I am back home, back to my thoughts.
I wish I could be happy, be normal.
I wish I wasn’t me.
On clearer days, I wonder – why do I go through this? Why am I not happy? Everything seems perfectly great on the outside – I have friends who care about me, I have a family who loves me, I am excelling at my course. Why am I haunted with my past?
I keep reminding myself – it is over now. No one will hurt you now. You are stronger. You are bolder. You will survive.
Except I don’t want to.
I think I am in a dysfunctional relationship with happiness. Sometimes it loves me, I love her. And sometimes we hate each other. Sometimes we break up. Sometimes we marry for a few weeks. I have developed my coping mechanisms for every divorce.
Sometimes, I write.
Other times, I draw, or work on an assignment that I enjoy.
The aim is to distract, to forget that I am not happy. Sometimes, even pretending to be happy actually works. Hey – fake it till you make it!
When nothing seems to work, I cry. Letting it all out can help get things back on track.
Most of all – I remind myself that it will be over soon. I will feel better eventually. After all, tomorrow’s a new day, a new life and a new beginning.
