Showerhead

Water drops bursting again my skin,

burning my arms red

until the pain begins

to overwhelm me. The showerhead

doesn’t stop even when I internally beg it to.

It reminds of you.

How couldn’t you see that what you did was wrong?

Bleeding in your name

He told me he loved me

and when I turned away he ran to me,

dropped to his knees in front of me and said he was sorry,

grabbed me and pulled me close to him,

buried his face into my stomach,

pleaded for my love,

pleaded for me to not give up on him.

And the blood began dripping from my wrists,

my hand is his hair trying to comfort him,

I watched as it seeped into his hair.

I dropped to my knees.

I pulled him close and held him,

but I felt nothing. 

I watched the blood stain his clothes.

He told me he loves me.

I said nothing.

He opened his eyes, 

panic.

He began wrapping one of my arms in his shirt.

He cried.

And I raised my hand to his cheek to comfort him,

caressed it and said:

“I love for you,”

“I hurt for you,”

“I bleed for you.”

He held me in his arms

And I closed my eyes.

I felt nothing.

And soon after I was nothing.

Like Candle Wax

My heart is too full,

gushing, exploding with emotions

seeping out all the love my body produces for it.

My mind a factory of feelings:

machines running, running, running;

running fast like thoughts,

like candle wax dripping onto my skin.

It’s nice; but sometimes it hurts a lot.

Sometimes I think I can handle it,

but then my body is left with scars,

with these emotions burned into my skin:

some more permanent than others.

I try my best to shed my skin of the memories,

but when I think, I remember everything,

remember all the hurt.

And I go numb.

My heart is empty,

like suffocating lungs.

Uncomfortable.

Needing.

Panicking to be full.

I breathe: in and out, in and out, and

in and out: until I think my lungs are going to explode,

until my body refuses to stop shaking,

until I am curled up on the cold wooden floor,

tears gushing down my face,

seeping out all the pain my body loves to create.

My mind an unforgiving factory,

refusing to shut down when I beg it to.

It keeps running:

running, running, running,

like candle wax pouring onto my skin,

burning and scaring everything it touches.

Sex and Self Harm

Careful to wear baggy hoodies and sweatpants to avoid the attention of a man.  Head down, eyes low, and hair covering your face, the way society has taught women to behave. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re pretty. But he does. And when he says so make sure to be polite and thank him. He smiles and asks for your number and of course you give it to him because……….And when he texts you and asks to come over at 1 am, say yes. You make sure to wear tight revealing clothes so he will think you’re worth……When he kisses you make sure to pretend you really do want more. And when his hands grip you, pray that he didn’t feel you flinch. When he removes your clothes hold your breath because he might actually realize you are there. Then when he tells you to turn over, get on your knees, and come closer, obey. And when he grabs hold of your shoulder to hold you in place, bite your lip to stop it from quivering. Remain silent until he is done with you. Wipe your face quick before he sees. You don’t want him to know you’re there. You don’t want him to see you as more than what you really are… BPD.

“I lost my virginity learning how to hurt myself with someone else’s body. What is assault if it is self inflicted? This illness was built on the same bones of misogyny that taught him it was okay to have sex with my dead body”  BPD by Coral More

My Savior

He saved me in a way Satan would save someone. Nonetheless, he saved me. His voice echoed the words I wanted to hear at just the right tone and pitch to shatter glass. Of which I picked up a shard, my very own blade to feel something. An endless supply of words which granted me the gift of cutting, the gift of life. My shards drug across my skin and I had a purpose. Yes I was doing the Devil’s work, but the point was that I was doing something. I was living…feeling….bleeding. His voice the purity which brought so much pain. So much towards the backwards step in survival.

A Few of My Flaws

I am so stuck.

This pit of emptiness absorbs me.

Everything’s black.

There’s nothing.

My shoulders circle uncomfortably.

My grip tightens.

I pull my hair to try to find grounding.

I hyperventilate until I am on the brink of death.

My fingers run down my thighs,

smooth to rough to smooth.

My cuts smile back at me proud.

Another cut, another day I fought to stay alive.

The desire to scream.

The feeling of it not being okay, never forgiving myself.

I never fought back, didn’t yell for him to stop.

My passive anger remains bottled.

You Promised

Depression wipes my tears as he chokes me so sweetly close to death. He releases and allows me to take a breath. And repeat. And repeat. And I hyperventilate this time when he lets go because I forgot how to take in breaths slow. My body won’t stop shaking as I pace the room. All my panic shouts at my lungs as they refuse to calm, as they refuse to fill. I think of all the times I have apologized for shaking. All the times I explained that “I’m fine. It’s normal. I’m okay.” Then I gasp and stop. I stop trembling and I hold my breath until I inhale silently. Exhale and the feeling of emptiness in my chest rises.

Depression chains me to my bed so that I can’t move. I sit still. Too still. As part of me remains trapped in my body, my soul feels like it’s gone. I am half alive and half dead. I think of all the times I have regretted not being there for someone. Hurt someone and felt nothing, but later hated myself in every part of my being for being such trash. For embodying the devil’s spirit as depression laughs at me. He tightens my chains.

Depression hands me a blade. He’s screaming. He’s screaming and he won’t stop. I can’t breath. I’m shaking. I can’t stop shaking as my hand shifts, the blade tears open my skin. “Oh my God Mommy you promised they would help me,” as I watch the blood leave my body. “Mommy you promised they could help me,” cut after cut after cut.

Depression grabs the blade and pours alcohol over my body. I scream in pain. He applies pressure to stop the bleeding. He laughs in my face as he says not yet; we are just getting started.