Eleven

Eleven bloody wounds march down my leg,
And not content, for companions they beg.
They halt not for God or Love or my son,
Proof of a battle hard-fought, but not won.
Strange it is, this lust for blood and a knife -
Strange desire in a mother and a wife.
Anger drove the blade, and fear, and shame.
Darkness covered all, but was it to blame?
To neither Love, friend, or God did I run -
I felt the urge, obeyed, and it was done.
Boundless pain and darkness renew their hold,
And lust for blood grows ever more bold...
Will it ever stop? Will it ever end?
Not while to shadows my knee I still bend!
Oh God, part the Dark, send light streaming through...
Make me a child of light - a child of You.

What Was That?

What was that?

A flitting spark

Briefly shining

Then vanishing...

A spark called hope.

What was that

A candle-flame

Flickering in the night

Blown out quickly...

A flame called hope.

What was that?

A faint torchlight

Chasing away shadows

Snuffed in the sand...

A torch called hope.

What was that?

A bright campfire

Giving light and warmth

Quenched with water

Yet still glowing...

A fire called hope.

What was that?

A burst of sun

Cleared the clouds

Covered once more

Yet still shining...

A burst of hope.

What is that?

Savior of men

Banishing darkness

Bleeding and dead

Yet living for me...

A Savior of hope.

Unworthy

I am unworthy. Unworthy of love, or life, or happiness. What could make me worthy? Will the blood of Christ remove the stain on my soul? When it has been there for so long?

Why do I feel so unworthy? It is not something that I have been told. Rather, it is something I know at the very depths of my being, in the bottom of my heart. I know, as surely as night devours day, that a normal life, and all the joy and happiness that entails, is not meant for me. Indeed, I would not know what to do with those things. I do not know why I know this, only that I do. I am outcast, separate, alone. Sometimes I wonder why this is so. Sometimes I rage against it, but it like a stone wall - unmovable, inviolate. Truth?

I know those who would disagree. They would fling their truths, those of love, faith, Scripture, hope, against the stone wall, but those truths shatter and fall, while the wall holds. It holds, and while it does, certainty holds as well. But those who would disagree, they don't...because I do not tell them. And aside from my lover, they no longer ask. As for him...well, he would try to fling truths of love, and they would only shatter with the rest.

What can be done? Why is life this way? Will it ever change? After so long (How long? I know not.), I have no hope of changing, no hope that the core of who I am can, or should, be altered. Because this is who I am. Unworthy.

Remembrance

A year ago...it is hard to believe that so much can have happened in just one year. As my lover, said, much has gotten better...but to be honest, much has remained the same. For a while, things got much worse...thankfully it has not remained that way.

But a year ago...I could have died. I would have died, if not for basically two people...Bradley Menne, who was not afraid to call 911 on me, and Officer Mike Hoyt, who made the tough decision to send me to a mental hospital. Because of them, I live. And I am thankful for that. But...

You knew that was coming, didn't you. Is there not always a "but"? I attempted suicide! Where was God in that time? I found him quickly enough afterwards, or at least so my journal indicates. And I grew quickly...or did I? It was like a weed that shoots up quickly...and whithers just as fast. Look at where I was just over a month later! If you can't recall, it involved lots of blood...and pictures, and the beginning of the end with the deans. Only a month later, so much more pain...where was God then? A month after that, such a bitter fall...and another month, and I so badly wanted to try again. But then you finally spoke, Father, you called me, and I gladly followed. Even then, Satan got in a last blow, but we all know where that led. But ever since then, I have tried to follow you. I have not turned away. Sometimes I have been more serious, sometimes less, but the direction has been consistent. But where were you a year ago?

Now I begin to write something that I don't quite believe, although I think that it is true. Where was God? He was there in the church service when the thought first occurred to me, "tugging at my heartstrings," remember? He was there in the car ride home when the thought began to become an option. He was there that night as I lied to my lover and broke promises to him and to my father. He was there when I told Bradley of my struggle (or else why did I do that?), and he was there in the words he said. Where was God? He was there when I picked up a knife and sliced my wrists, not just once, but several times. He was there at the hospital, in the back of squad car 600, and at Mendota. He never left. He was always there.

The clouds do not eliminate the sun's rays, only our ability to see them.

The Nothing

It was hard to get up this morning...only partly because of fatigue, at least physical. My endurance for wearing the sunshine mask has diminished through lack of use. I do not know whether that is a good or bad thing. It becomes harder and harder to become that person who my in-laws have fallen in love with, the person who was once Squishy's best friend.

A lot of interest is hard to feign when my only interest is to curl into a ball and stare blankly at the wall. I wasn't joking the other day when I listed getting up and taking a shower as my accomplishments for the day. Because they were. Anything else...is going above and beyond what I feel capable of doing. A while back Dr. Meyer told me that he thought depressed people has more faith because it took more effort just to get out of bed in the morning. I didn't understand him completely then, because I had never got this far down before. But now I know that maybe he was right. I don't know about the faith part, but the effort part was true.

It becomes harder and harder to respond to my lover's declarations and actions of love. I know that he loves me, and yet I feel...nothing. I feel nothing. I am empty, and yet I am filled with darkness. I am void of emotion and yet overflowing with pain and despair. There is no hope in the darkness, save God, and his light is so dim I cannot see it, though I trust, with what little faith I have, that it is there. I trust because I must. Without that, there is no hope, no trust, no chance of light. There is nothing.

Where are the Tears?

I was reading last night, a lot of old things - emails, journals, poetry. And they put such a sharp focus on my pain, which is what I intended. That sounds bad, but this is why: most of yesterday I was floating around in this general well of pain...not being able to pinpoint it, just knowing that that it hurt. There was nothing I could do to ease, save the blade, and I didn't want to turn to that. So looking back at things that spoke of specific hurts, specific pains, was my way of pinpointing something so that I could at least let the tears come...or so I thought.

Because the tears won't come. Even now. They want to, and sometimes one or two slips out, but the sobs, the violent tears that would help to cleanse out some pain...they are no longer to be found. Not even last time I cut...I wanted the tears to fall, as they have so often, but I couldn't. And I wanted this to be long, I wanted to go on and on about tears, and wonder where they are, and wish that they would return, but I find that I can't. I guess today, words, like tears, are in short supply.

It Speaks!

Today my counselor showed me a portion of the Scripture that, for the first time in a long time (or ever?) actually spoke to me. It was Psalm 88, in the version known as "The Message." Probably not a translation/paraphrase I would normally recommend, but in this instance...it speaks!

God, you're my last chance of the day. I spend the night on my knees before you. Put me on your salvation agenda; take notes on the trouble I'm in. I've had my fill of trouble; I'm camped on the edge of hell. I'm written off as a lost cause, one more statistic, a hopeless case. Abandoned as already dead, one more body in a stack of corpses, and not so much as a gravestone - I'm a black hole in oblivion. You've dropped me into a bottomless pit, sunk me into a pitch-black abyss. I'm battered senseless by your rage, relentlessly pounded by your waves of anger. You turned my friends against me, made me horrible to them. I'm caught in a maze and I can't find my way out, blinded by tears of pain and frustration.

I call to you, God, all day I call. I wring my hands, I plead for help. Are the dead a live audience for your miracles? Do ghosts ever join the choirs that praise you? Does your love make any difference in a graveyard? Is your faithful presence noticed in the corridors of hell? Are your marvelous wonders ever seen in the dark, your righteous ways noticed in the Land of No Memory?

I'm standing my ground, God, shouting for help, at my prayers every morning, on my knees each daybreak. Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear? Why do you make yourself scarce? For as long as I remember I've been hurting; I've taken the worst you can hand out, and I've had it. Your wildfire anger has blazed through my life; I'm bleeding, black-and-blue. You've attacked me fiercely from every side, raining down blows till I'm nearly dead. You made lover and neighbor alike dump me; the only friend I have left is Darkness.

I could have written this psalm. I could write it every day. And there is no resolution, no "Oh look, God made it all better, just because you asked him nicely." There is barely even any hope. But what I see, is that even when the words are accusatory, even when I'm practically yelling at God, even when I don't really think it will do any good...in all those times, he still desires to hear from me. And perhaps, in the act of crying for help, I will find hope that it will come.

Just Writin'

I was reading

Just now.

Reading old words

Of mine

Old, but so true

Even now.

Words of pain

Of blood

And blade.

Words of fear

And hate

And anger.

Bitter words,

Hurt words,

Tears.

And my tears flowed again.

Because what has changed?

What pain has left?

What shadows have lifted,

What darkness has departed?

You know the answer

You know what I will say...

Nothing!

Pain, darkness, shadows...

All still here

All still overpower

What is the use, Father God?

Where is your help?

Your strength?

What of your promises?

I wear a mask again

I hide from those who care

Oh, my lover...do you see?

Do you know

That for every time I tell you

I am "sad"

Two more are hidden

Because I know

The frustration you feel

So I keep it from you.

Do you know, my love,

That I had only two weeks

Of freedom?

That the hours are counted

In your absence

Because I miss you, yes...

But also because

When you are here...

I cannot cut

And bloodthoughts

Are more easily

Pushed aside.

Every time I am weak enough

To burrow into your shoulder

In darkness

Is a time longings for blood

Are almost too much

A time the darkness

Is close to winning

And it is not "sadness!"

Sadness is momentary

Here for a bit, then gone

This is darkness!

This is the absence of light

Of joy, of hope

And when you say

"Talk to Meyer, he can help"

I may outwardly agree

But I know it's hopeless

I've been talking for a year

And more.

Where has it gotten me?

I talked to my dad

Today.

He asked how I was...

The mask said, "good."

He believed it.

It made him happy.

But if I were to pick up

A blade

I would not tell him

If blood were

Running

Down my arm

Or tears down my cheeks

The answer still would be

"Good."

I have friends that care

But they no longer ask

And I, I have the mask.

Do they ever wonder?

Who knows? Does it matter?

And so I hide in myself

Sometimes alone

Sometimes lonely

Sometimes both

But the mask is neither

It is all things

To all men

And I yearn for blood!

But for now

I will stay strong

Or pretend to

Either way

I won't give in.

Not today.

Hypocrisy

Every once in a while, something happens to slap me in the face and remind me, "Hey, wake up! You aren't the only one who struggles with darkness!" In this case, it was a friend telling me of her struggle. So, ironically (because my poetry is, almost without exception, very dark and depressing), I wrote her an encouraging poem. The hypocrisy is because the poem is a lie: a list of things to "brighten her day" that don't really matter in the end... peaches, the beach, movies... they make no difference in MY darkness. Perhaps they will in hers.

Puppies and unicorns

Frolicked in the sun

And pandas played

Under the rainbow

Everything was bright and happy

And no tears fell there

No clouds to block the sunshine

It was always spring, and fair

The idyllic scene brought a smile

And a laugh to my lips

I was still laughing when I awoke

For only a dream it was

And I thought to myself,

"Life isn't puppies and unicorns

Not really pandas and rainbows.

But even so, life is not dark.

"I don't have a puppy

To bring me a smile

But a letter from a friend

Will do just as well."

So I looked around me

For things that are bright

And I found so many

I hardly know where to start.

A peach freshly bitten

With juice down my chin

The waves on the beach

And diving right in

The clouds block the sunshine

But when rays peek through

That's a sigh to enrapture

And cherish forever too

Watching a funny movie

Or one beloved and timeworn

Laughing with friends or alone

Or seeing a new day born

Making a new work of beauty

By hand or with Photoshop

The list could go on forever

But I think here, for now, I'll stop.

I wrote this poem for you, my friend

But I think I needed it too

I wrote it to be sunlight

And it shines for me as for you

So remember I love you

Love, smile, laugh, pray

I hope I did just a little

To bring light to your day

Failure or Success?

I can't help viewing yesterday as both failure and success. It is failure, because I threw away 21 weeks of fighting. And yet I can't help seeing it as success. I cannot help but see that today has been much better than yesterday, in some ways. I cannot help but see that the darkness is less consuming today. I desire to cut more, but the darkness is not as deep. I cannot help but see that 21 weeks of fighting and struggling and trying to trust God have not made the darkness lessen as much as five red lines on my arm have.

So was it failure or success? And if you say failure, whose failure was it? Mine, or the darkness? Whose success? Can you say either? Failure provided joy that has been missing for months. Success brought pain to my beloved. Failure lifted the darkness. Success brought more shame. Failure brought peace, at least for a bit. Success delivered more conflict.

So what was it? Failure, or success?

Crimson Regret

I'm hungry, for what? For the pain

I'm thirsting for the bloodflow again

So much has changed, but not this

Unquenched desire for razor's sweet kiss

Laugh and smile, not real but not fake

Release relinquished for true love's sake

If I turn, turn to God and his cross

Will he repay me for knifeblade's loss?

Darkness deepens, clouds my mind

Pain reaches out for pain in kind

Scars stand out, remembrance and desire

Awaiting the return of bloodsoaked fire

Fear remains, but I have nothing left to say

Abide here with me and await the break of Day.

Tears

I close my eyes, but no rest comes, only tears. I do not know why I cry, only that the tears will not stop. They are not the phantom tears of joy, but those of unutterable sorrow. Sorrow...and pain. Sorrow for what, I know not. I know not what hurts, only that it does.

Darkness I have felt before, and pain, but nothing like this. Never before have I felt this unending sadness with no origin. Maybe it is all or in part pregnancy hormones. With my background, it is hard to tell. Something tells me it is not, but then, something also tells me to reach for the blade in my pocket. I can trust neither mind nor emotions.

Let me try a metaphor. I am a bottomless, empty well. Sorrow and pain rush in, but make no impression on the emptiness, nor does the love of my lover. And so I feel both completely empty of any emotion, while at the same time full of sadness and hurt.

So the tears fall unchecked, and my mind draws ever closer to...what? Darkness? Blades? Blood? Emptiness.

I Don't Choose This!

Forgiven!

I cling to that word

Cling to the cross

I cling to my Savior

Trust in his blood

But the darkness presses

And the shadow falls

Will they engulf me again?

Will they bind me in their chains?

How long will I fight them?

How long 'till I fall?

They've already a foothold

They always have

I see them approaching

But where do I run?

I can't run from the shadows,

From what's in my mind

No matter how far I run

I can't leave them behind

I know what they say

(That nebulous "they")

"Just read your Bible,

Trust God, and pray."

And it sounds so good

If only it worked

If only the shadows

Saw God and fled

The shadows don't do that

That won't make them flee

And that won't keep the darkness

Away from my mind

I don't choose the darkness

I know that it comes

I know in the past

I've dragged myself down.

But not this time!

Not here and now!

I don't choose the shadows...

But my choice counts for naught

The darkness will come

Whether I will it or not.

So I cling to my Savior

I do read, trust, and pray

And I pray that this darkness

Lasts not very long

And won't sink me too far

Or bring me to blood

I hope it won't blind me

To Savior and Love

Or make me alone

In the midst of a crowd.

I trust you, my Father

That you're in control

That you won't send an evil

You won't help me escape

O God my Father!

The darkness is here!

It's smashing the gates

And battering the walls

And as the walls fall

And shadows rush in

I pray you won't

Leave me chained here

For long...

Once a Cutter

I haven't blogged in a while, because I haven't seen myself as a cutter for a while. But now...

This ought to be one of the happiest times in my life. And it is. I am supremely happy. I'm getting married in 6 days! It's amazing!

And yet the darkness threatens to engulf me. WHY?? It doesn't make sense. I don't choose this! I don't desire this! And yet...ahhhh! And yet, I do. No! I can't. So much battle inside. Except, the darkness doesn't fight. It creeps along, and then it engulfs, and when it has, I will no longer fight. And I can't go there! I can't afford a stay in hell, in darkness and in flames.

And with the darkness of course comes the almost overwhelming desire to cut. I haven't cut, not for 70-some days. Which is, by the way, a very long time. But I want to, I want to so bad. Yet, I don't. I can't. I won't.

And so perhaps, it is really...once a cutter, always a cutter, if nowhere else than in my mind.

Shame

Shall I live my life in shame?
Shall I wallow in what's done?
Shall I let myself forget that
I'm forgiven and it's gone?

My life is now in flames,
Shall I leave it burning here?
Shall I sit among the ashes
As smoke rises in the air?

I am not bound by what is dead
Or chained, as in the past.
The scars remain, but guilt is gone.
The blood of Christ will last.

A Note to the Hawk

You want words, hawk? You to try to put words to loneliness so complete, I have to travel six hours to be touched. You try to express a pain you've spent years suppressing and hiding and ignoring. You tell me how it feels to hate yourself for the person you've become, knowing that this is who you are. You tell me how you deal with all this and fight the bitterness that tries to push through, and with it the hatred. Now tell me how you feel when the few friends who do take time to talk to you delight in venting all of their hurts, griefs, and stresses into your listening ear. Do tell how you bear their burdens as well as your own. Tell me if you can how you do all this and still go through your day smiling, with words of encouragement to those who need it. Describe to me how you deal with walking past the knife section at Walmart and experiencing a desire to cut that feels like a knife itself in your gut. Put words to all of this, hawk.

Well? You have no words? But that's what you wanted me to do.

Black and White

For a day and half a day
I saw things in black and white
It was all so very clear
Now, well, it's faded again
And returned to shades of grey.

The future is always unclear
But then throw new life into the mix
The things you thought you knew...
Silly you. You know better.
You are human, you know nothing.

God pulled me off the path I trod
Set my feet on a narrow road
And the way leads through
High mountains and soaring cliffs
And I can't see where to place my feet.

He's placed me on this path
And He will see me through
With all the seeds I've sown this year
The reckoning is coming
And only his arms uphold me.

How Do You Fight?

How do you fight
A formless shadow?
As fast as you light
A candle,
It's blown out.

A Glimpse and Half a Look

Scars don't fade.
Inside or out,

It's all the same. The scars on my arm are an angry red, the ones on my legs a purple shade. The older ones are pale brown, but all stand out, all easily found. Criss-cross the knife sliced, in jagged lines the blood flowed. And the scars remain.

What brought this on, this morbid remembrance? A glimpse and half a look, that's all. A knife half-seen, a glimpse of blade...that's all it took. I didn't really want to cut, I was doing just fine. But all of a sudden, when he leaned over and I saw that knife, mine's twin, sticking out of his pocket...the desire crashed over me like a wave.

And the wave crashes
And the fire roars
And I'm drowning
Burning.
Calm the waves!
Quench the fire!
Help me before I'm
Overcome.

Death, Despair, and Destruction

WARNING!!!!!! Please remember that I write in order to express feelings if I can before trying to express them through blood. Also note that I do NOT desire to kill myself, it is just an internal struggle that annoys the crap out of me. I don't know where it comes from and I'd really like it to stop. But it won't. And so that is where this post comes from.

Death, destruction, and despair...starting to become pretty commonplace in my life. I can't decide whether that is good or bad. They're starting to lose their sting, starting to become a little less...horrible. "O grave, where is thy victory; o death, where is thy sting?" True words, and ones I have no problem agreeing with. Score one for you, God.

Death, death, and more death. Yay. The mood I'm in now...prolly not good for me. I'm dwelling too much on October, on what I did "wrong," what i could have done to actually succeed...and something is pushing me to try again. That scares me like you wouldn't believe. I know what it takes to make me take that final step, to try it...and it's not much. It only takes the right combo of darkness, depression, self-pity, and loneliness...a combo I can feel myself fast approaching, a place I don't want to be. Oh, yeah, and pain...both physical and emotional/mental. I got that too.

So, I'm both dark and terrified, and the terror only drives the darkness deeper. So I've got the feeling in my stomach that invariably leads to blood...but I'm scared to do that, too, because I might not be able to stifle the urge to go too far. But I really want to, so I might anyway, so it's like...i'm unsure
And I hate being unsure of my ability to control myself. I can control nothing else about my life besides my own actions, and if I can't control even that, where am I? Drifting is only good if I choose to. When I feel like i have no control over what i do OR what others do in my life...what is the point of me living it?

I'm not saying I want to stop living, although on some level, that is what I'm saying. I have an amazing reason to go on living...it's my fiance. And not wanting to hurt my friends. But for my beloved, it's more than just not wanting to hurt him. I want to give him a lifetime of loving to make up for the sucky existence he's had so far. And beyond that I just want him to know he's loved, because he is my lover and he deserves it. And selfishly, I want him to love me for the rest of my life, too...and it's hard to love a corpse or a memory. So yeah, i don't want to hurt him, but i also want to give him the love he deserves.

But that love doesn't negate the urge to...well, to kill myself. They both exist in my soul and they fight, and it's starting to tear me apart. And cutting would help with the conflict, but there again is the question of going too far, of not being able to control myself. It's driving me, pushing me too far, drowning me.

Who Is That Girl?

See that girl?
Do you know her?
You see her...
Almost every day.
What is her name?
Do you know
Who she is?

She's wearing the usual...
Long black sleeves,
Black jeans, and boots.
Do you know why?
They cover arms
Layered with scars
And legs much the same.
Now do you know
Who she is?

"Emo!" you whisper.
"Cutter! Freak!
She's just looking
For attention.
Ignore her."

You idiots.
If she wanted attention
She'd let you see
All the fresh cuts
And old scars.
But you...you can't even see
Past her dark clothes
Much less past
Her ravaged skin
To see her torn and bleeding soul.

Guess what, you
Self-centered
Self-righteous
Hypocrites...
She needs you.
You hold the key!
You hold the gospel!
Jesus didn't shed his lifeblood
So you could withhold it
From the "unworthy."
You didn't deserve it,
Either.

So what are you
Going to do?
Ignore her
As you see her every day?
Or will you
Swallow your stinking pride
And tell her that...

Jesus Loves Her!

~~~~~~~

So, I know what happened.
You refused.
Sat back in your pew,
Said, "I don't know what to say.
Somebody else
Will tell her
(Rebellious twit)."

Sunday morning
Sunday school
You hear the sirens
See the flashing lights
As the ambulance flies by.
You think nothing of it...
Happens all the time.

Monday morning
You grab the morning paper
As you drink your coffee.
There's her face
Staring up at you
From the front page.
"SUICIDE!!!" It screams
In bold black type
Splashed across the page.
Sort of like her blood
Splashed on the bathroom wall
When she decided life was done
And sliced a razor blade
Across her life-vein.

You knew her.
But you never gave her the key
To unlock the chains
That bound her in darkness.
Do you know where she is?
You should.
You condemned her there.
You sent her to HELL
As surely as if your hand
Held the blade.

So what are you going to do?
"Sorry" just isn't enough,
Is it?
Can you close your eyes
Without her face floating
Through your dreams?
Can you drown out
Her screams of torment
By playing loud hymns?
Can you read your Bible
Without seeing that headline
Superimposed across the page?

Cry out to God, Christian!
Plead for his forgiveness...
It's too late to ask for hers.

~~~~~~~

It's been a few months now.
The guilt has settled to a dull ache
Behind your breastbone.

Do you see her?
She looks familiar...
You don't know why.
Then...you realize.
It's the dark hair,
The long dark sleeves,
The black jeans and boots.
You know who she is.

"Emo!" Your mind whispers.
"Cutter!"

What happens next...
Well.

That...
Is up to YOU.

But in Dreams...

As I laid upon my bed last night, I dreamed
Of many varied things, and yet it seemed
That one stood out above the rest
And even waking puts my faith to test.

The dream a nightmare some would call
But I did not find it so at all.
I dreamed of blood flowing fast and free,
But blood not of Christ, but rather, me.

Not all my blood, nor by my own hand,
But enough that me it left no strength to stand.
I woke to regret, but not to fright:
Saddened the dream lasted not all the night.

Now waking and sleeping, when my eyes drift shut,
I see the blood, and a razor blade, poised to cut.
Thirst and hunger over me have no sway,
But the blood! It clouds me even as I pray.

My Heart is Bleeding...

Broken
Jagged
Bleeding
My heart

Can't be
Mended
Shattered
Scattered

Reach out
Grasp blade
Blood flows
Tears too

Always
Alone
Friends can't
Be near
Lover's
Away

I am
Cutter
Now and
Always
Never
Can change

The past
Buried
Rises
Reclaims
My mind

Stay down!
Go back!
Leave me!
You're dead!

Feel it
Darkness
Pushing
Prying
Worming
Claiming
My thoughts

Why cut?
Darkness.
Red is
Not black.

Darkness
Consumes
Darkness
Controls

Chain me
Break me
Beat me
Wound me
Deserved!

Cut off
Alone
A life
Wasted
Pointless
Ever
Searching
Never
Finding

Silence,
O Heart.
Beat not
Bleed not
Feel not

Shadows
Falling
Cover...
All hope

Make words
Why cut?
Know not
Still do

Feel pain
Inside
Show pain
With blood

Why pain
So much?
What cause?
DON'T KNOW!
Make words?
Are none.

Ah...God.
Spew out
Poison
Bitter
Hatred
Where from?
From life!
No joy!
No peace!
No rest!
No strength!

Like blood
Words flow
Why, God?
Why pain?
Where's joy?

"Savior"
From what?
Hell, right?
I live
In Hell!

Burning
Darkness
Screaming
Anguish
Hopeless
Torment
Hellfire!

Broken
Bleeding
Empty
Joyless
Hopeless...

Darkness
Always.

Fence-Rail Sitting

My backside hurts
From this fencerail
I'm sitting on.
I have to get off
Soon.
Which way
Will I go?
I can't have both things.
I can't glorify God
And cut.
I can't claim both his blood
And mine.

But I don't know
What I want!
I don't know
What to live for.

I've tasted God's goodness
A time or two
I know what it is
Sort of.
Never tasted it more
Than a few days
Maybe a month.
Rest of my life has been
Well, pretty sucky
And I find a way
To deal finally
It's just less acceptable
Than eating
Or sleeping
Or video games
Or this writing
Or talking...
All the other things
People do
To cope.
Because I cope
With a razor blade
I'm considered
Strange
A monster, almost
Certainly condemned

But they're right
I'm a monster
I'm strange
Weird
Different
I get stressed
Everyone does
But I relieve that stress
With blood
Which is biblical
I've just got the wrong blood
I love blood
Too much
For sure
But more I love the pain
Because like he said
It puts actions to feelings
Otherwise inexpressable
It shows
If only to myself
How much I hurt

I don't wanna go back!
I don't wanna revisit
The past
It should stay where it is
An occasional overarching pain
Sure, it can strike
Without warning
Maybe it colors my thinking
More than I know
Maybe it's the root of the pain
I don't care
I keep that pain
In a locked box
In a locked room
Behind a locked door
Behind another locked door
Buried in a cave
In the middle of the ocean
It has consumed too much
Of my life
Already
Why give it more?
I used to think about it
Continuously
Now it's less and less
Bringing it up again
Only makes it worse.

Wake Up

It is so easy for you to sit in your bubble, where things like depression and mental illness are experienced but not discussed, and say that they don't exist. It is easy for you to say to love God, to trust him, and that if we do, the depression will automagically disappear. The truth is, you're wrong. A time or two that may work, and a time or two more we will tell you it worked, lest you judge us. Because you will. You do. Beware, O Christian college student, of uttering the words, "I'm clinically depressed." You may desire help, but you will only receive condemnation. You grew up in a Christian home...I dare say it was an internal battle or two before you even saw a psychologist to obtain that diagnosis. But you did, and now you have this prescription...but God forbid you should mention that you're taking this medication. That's like...sinful, or something! It's not...but that's the way we've been made to feel, isn't it? But it is so easy for all you people to sit in your bubble and say "depression isn't real, it doesn't exist, especially not among Christians." Or cutting. You have fooled yourselves. Open your eyes, look to see! On my college campus of less than nine hundred, there were four of us that I know of for sure, and several dozen that I'm pretty sure of. All cutters. People...it does exist!


We are here, we are hurting, and we want help...but you continue to convince yourselves that we don't exist. Ah, my friends...my heart bleeds for YOU! Your life is built on a lie. You're hiding in a bubble, and eventually it will pop. Then where will you be? You will learn very quickly that these things are real, and you won't have your bubble-mates to reassure you. Try walking up to me and trying to discuss with me that depression isn't real. You have tried in the past. I know how to silence you: "I was diagnosed with clinical depression while I was in a mental hospital for attempted suicide." You generally back away, judging, or sometimes, ashamed.


So don't TELL me depression isn't real. I live it. Don't TELL me Christians don't cut. I am and I do. Wake up, Christians! Open your eyes! And instead of condemning us...help us.

She's Dropping

borrowed from a friend

she drops to the floor

like the tears she so frequently cries

she screams at the silence

as pieces of her heart die

will she survive?

she's dropping like stars

look at her arms

and see all her scars

she was unprotected

and you were unaware

every time you looked her way

she hid her face behind her hair

she is looking for a way out

and the razors always seem to carve the way

leaving a trail of blood

and a mirror, so she can see herself decay

she is starving

and bleeding

and dying

do you see her?

do you care too?

there is a time

and a box of sharp objects

there is the spot

where she hurts herself

she is not going to cry

or at least that's what she said

you promised you would care

but she's used to words lying there dead

thought in her head

spinning at the speed of darkness

she is covered in shame

and her hair is a mess

she's dropping

like the hearts that once floated around her head

she's dying

but wishes she were already dead

she calls a friend

hoping she'll care

not knowing the end

was already there

the friend was to busy

and her parents were never there

who in this world

would dare to show that they care

"I Love You"

these words ring in her ears

like a curse of night

or the fire fly

"I hate you"

this is what she whispers

and she wonders if there is anyone

who would be willing to contradict her

she's dropping

like stars

and hiding the scars

longing to hurt herself, to make the pain cease

she knows that her heart ache will only increase

no one around

she wonders who would save her

she wants help

but wishes she were braver

she's alone

on the floor

staring at her box

where the razor lays so peacefully

she looks at her wrists, regretting

she knows why she made each tare in her skin

she knows why her wrists are so thin

she sees scars and remembers when

the color red, it makes her feel ashamed

the rest of her story, will it be un-named?

who should be blamed?

no one to turn to

she turns to her wall

looks up to the ceiling

and begins to call

HELP ME

SOMEONE

ANYONE

PLEASE

I am lost

I am on my knees

she crawls to box and lifts up her hands

her skin is cut up, left it in strands

HELP ME

SOMEONE

ANYONE

PLEASE

and the peaceful box

becomes chaos, and misery

HELP ME...

she cries!

SOME ONE? ANYONE? PLEASE!!

I am desperate for saving!

and all of the sudden

she feels the breeze

a soft wind across her face

she hears in her broken heart

that she is not alone

and though she has been torn, she can restart

"I love you"

these words ring in her heart

like a blessing,

some motivation to fight

"I hate you"

she still wants to believe

but she has found her hero

and knows only he can relieve

relieve her pain

take her burden

understand her heaviness

she drops to the floor

like the tears

she so frequently cried

she surrenders her fears

and moves to the light

she has come alive

and has leaned to let herself feel

with the strength of the hero

she will let herself be real

no need to hide

no need to be ashamed

We are in the light

and covered in he flame

The hero calls her name

"I Love You"

she finally believes

finally receives the helping hand

and she gives her heart to this, more than a man

She sees his scars

and she's dropping to the floor

knowing that he gave his life

that she could give so much more

she trades her scars

for his relief

her pain is to far

now, to feel old grief!!

she is free!!

she is Free!!

and she is still dropping,

but only to her knees

A Death

borrowed from a friend, and the basis of the poem "An Already Broken Heart"

A death

Of an already broken heart

I feel the flicker of a small flame

And convince myself that everything will be okay

What a lie!!

The flame is bigger than before

I had to go and open a door

Keys in my pocket

And a torn picture in a tarnished locket

I am done

I have let the darkness in

And Let the fear reside in my already tormented heart

I am falling apart

Falling to my knees

But if I hit the ground

All it means is that I failed

Failed again…

Happily ever after

I refuse to chase

I can’t smile, or be drenched in laughter

I am hiding behind a cement face

I can’t let you see me cry

Can’t let you know I am about to die

Exaggerated smiles can’t save me now

The flicker is now a forest fire

Burning all of me down

The smoke enters in my lungs

And I just lay there letting myself drown

I am so done

The battle was won

The war is far from over though

So now I lay here refusing to go

Wishing and pleading to just not know

Who am I?

Who are you?

Time to fly

But my wings are glued

A death

Of an already broken heart

The end of one more breathe

And the ability to restart

Why don’t I just take your hand?

And let you help me

I know I can’t do this on my own

I am blind, and can not see

A death

A final breath

A final beat

My broken heart

Now ceases to be

He Was Right

borrowed from a friend

He turns to me

he smiles

then he goes on to say

"you are a different girl,

you can see on your face"

he was right

I'm not the same girl

I'm wearing different masks

to please the different people in this world

to bad I'm good at fooling

even the man who who can see through people

couldn't even see through me anymore

I guess my mask got to thick

with all the cement

make up

and pain

ribbons on my wrist

hide scars

and the lipstick I once wore

is smeared on different stars

He turns to me

he smiles

then he goes on to say,

"you are a different girl

you can see it on your face.

I love you."

he was right

I'm not the same girl

he loves who he sees

but that is not me

the reflection lies

and he couldn't see the real me through my eyes

so now what...

he was right

I'm not the same..

I've Built a Wall

borrowed from a friend

I have built a wall
of razor blades
I have created a mask of smoke
and I float away
on the secrets dripping off my black stained lips
lies have created my spine
and the claws inserted from the darkness
hold it in place
I have forgotten faces
and misplaced places
there's nothing left to do
my hair falls in my cement face
and covers what use to be my eyes
you would never know me,
if I took off my disguise
all I know is going up in flames
and seeing scars
only brings more shame
I'm tired
but I'm still chained
in this game
my prison walls are made of bones
and though I fall
I remain alone
cold and separate
though I share my heart
I know I'm the one that broke it
so I put the pieces
on a glass
and hope someone still wants it
they lust for my love
and they push and they shove
when will I have enough
my wings have been ripped out
and soaked in sulfer seas
my halo is broken now just like me
my skin is crying
and my bones are aching
this is to much for me to take
I am worthy, only to break
so break me
and crush me
then leave me there alone
Ive been through this before
I can fix my own
falling on my broken knees
and bowing my head to pray
then with one word "please"
I recall what I did today and yesterday
I feel ashamed
I'm to blame
chaos is my fualt
but I'll keep myself locked in this vault
don't let me ou
tI can't be in the light
only the stars can see me now
what have I got to lose
if I'm am nothing anyways
yes, it hurts to choose
or at least that is what everyone says
I lay here breathing
I lay here wishing
I was leaving
I only want to run away
I only want to stay
there is too much inside of me
and I let everything that was once good go to waste
I can taste satan's lips
and i breath in to recognize his smell
like nicotine
and pills
this time he's here to kill
save me
reach for me
don't let go
I know I'm heavy
and I know...
I know heroes
and zeros
all alike
please come to my rescue
i would ask for help if only i could trust you
but i lost you
i lost everyone
i lost myself
and came undone
now I'm wide open
I've built a wall of razor blades
and need to find a way out
I built a city around my soul
and now I'm trapped...
I'm up in flames
don't look at me
I'm nothing but bones and shame

An Already Broken Heart

The death

Of an already broken heart

Is a thing to be feared.

Who would be so cruel?

Who would crush

The already fragile spirit?

Life is so cruel.

What need of extra pains

To weigh the burdened heart?

Life weighs heavily enough.

Life broke my heart

Crushed my already fragile spirit.

Now I'm bound by a chain

Forged of blades and tempered in blood.

But life is not the forger;

I am.

The chain binds the

Pieces of my heart together.

It hold my fragile spirit

In its place.

Who is more cruel?

Life bruises to no purpose

Except to destroy.

I wound, if not to heal,

At least to shore up

My weakened defenses,

My hurting heart.

So do not crush

The already fainting spirit

Life does a good job of that

Already.

Do not destroy

The already broken heart

Of your worst enemy,

Much less your friend.

The death

Of an already broken heart

Is a thing

Cruel beyond words.

Be not the one whose hand

Deals the death-blow.

Be not so cruel.

Uma, Frodo

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand...there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts go too deep, that have have taken hold."

Exactly, Frodo. Look at me, compared to who I was a year ago. In some ways, I am the same, but in many others, I am almost a completely different person. I would not have called myself naive a year ago, but compared to now, I was. I have added layers of pain, yes, but they have me harder rather than more vulnerable. My fiance says that my hair cut and color make me look harder; I don't think he realizes that the events of this year have made me actually harder. Sure, things still touch me, still hurt me, but I have grown a lot less...soft. I am more aware of the way life is, more mature, less naive. Life is not fun and games, not hugs and puppies, not sunshine and light. Life is pain and hurt, darkness and shadow, grief and sorrow. Life is issue after problem after issue. These things I now know. I can never go back to who I was a year ago. I thought life was dark then..it was happiness and joy compared to now. I've learned a few things about myself this last year. I learned that when the blade is poised to cut over the vein, I do have the courage to slice. I found out that it's not just talk, I really don't give a damn what most people think. I've learned that I am a whole lot more manipulative than I thought I was. I have learned that I can actually do or not do things because of love. I have learned who my real friends are, and who only loves me when it's convenient or easy or allowed. I have let down my mask...and been reminded why it is that I wear it in the first place. And my mask has become better than ever before. I have learned that I am not alone, not unique...and yet I have never felt so alone. I have learned many things...about myself, about life, about people. And no matter how much I would like to regain the bliss of ignorance, I can't. And so Frodo is right: there are some hurts that are too deep, some changes that cannot be undone.

Tumult

Thoughts keep

Tumbling

Tumbling

Tumbling

Control...

Yeah, right

No plan

Drifting

Downstream

Swirling

Around

Floating

Nowhere

Tossing

Turning

Tumult

Pain

Do you know what it is like to live a life that is defined by the word "pain"? I, and many others, do. It is part, at least, of the reason we cut. Because the pain is overwhelming, and the blade brings at least temporary respite. That includes me. I've been seeing a Christian counselor for a year now, for cutting, suicide, and other things. And if I've learned one thing from it, it's that the pain never goes away. All the solutions I've ever heard of only teach us how to deal with the pain, not erase it. Even God's love, which is amazing. God's love has made me forget the pain for a little while, but even it (although my counselor would disagree, I'm sure) doesn't make the pain go away.

So, we cut. And even people who love us don't always help, at least in my experience. I wanted help, I wanted to stop cutting. So I told a few close friends about my struggle. At first, they were supportive. They went out of their way to help me, even having me over so I wasn't by myself, cutting. But slowly, they've changed. They still care about me, no doubt about that, but now when they know I'm struggling or have cut, it's like they get upset at me, rather than trying to help me. They keep telling me the same things they've been trying to tell me for months...the things that obviously aren't working. The main thing they tell me is that I shouldn't cut because it hurts the people I love...actually, the same thing they said when I was contemplating and attempted suicide. And I don't want to hurt them, no. I hate hurting them. But as I've said so many times...I can't live my life for other people. Sure, no man is an island; we all affect the people around us. But we all have to live our lives for ourselves. And my life just happens to be a life full of pain.

In some ways, I'm a classic cutter. I was molested as a child by a cousin and a brother, at different times. I would say that those, and their respective backlashes, were the start of my pain. And I've layered on many since then, many small pains that others find less disturbing ways to deal with (so why can't I?). Then this year alone, i was expelled from college, followed quickly by my parents withdrawing all financial support, and a few months later I was fired from my job. Those were some pretty big pains to add on to what I already have. I cut for all those pains.

But they aren't the only reasons I cut. Sometimes I cut...just because I want to. Sometimes I'm all cheerful and sunshiny, and out of nowhere the urge to cut hits me. So I do. Sometimes I'm angry at something, someone, or even myself, so I cut. Sometimes I've done something that deserves punishment, so I punish myself...with a razor blade. I've cut before because I had a migraine and i wanted the endorphin rush to take it away. (This actually works, by the way.) Hey, I've cut before just because I wanted the rush itself! The most common reason I cut, though, is probably stress. When I have so many bills, so many issues, so much going on, too many conflicting emotions...I cut then most of all.

So, I am a cutter. I have often wondered how much I am like other cutters, but in the end, it doesn't really matter. I am a cutter for my own reasons, and I want only this from you: Love, understanding, forgiveness, and never condemnation, even if I'm still cutting in three months...or three years.

Peaceful, Trusting

Peaceful
Trusting...
For my life,
Unreal.
It is only the fool
Who trusts
After his heart has been
Broken
Time and time again.
Some people deserve
To be trusted.
Many others
Not so much.
And I'd rather
Not trust the ones I can
(Like God?)
Than trust the others
And just get my heart
Broken.
Again.
As for peaceful, well...
That kinda goes with
Trusting.
So instead, I have
A little less peace
A little less trusand a heart
Unbroken.

No more tears!
I've done my time.
I'm winter, ice cold.
I am iron, stone.
Let nothing touch me
Let nothing break my heart.
I've picked up
The pieces
Too many times
And tried to move on.
No more.

I can hear you.
You're saying,
"But often it has been
Your own hand
That did the breaking
Your own actions
That shattered your life."
Yes.
You're right.
I did.
It hurts no less.
And that has
Nothing to do with
Trust.
But a lot to do
With iron.
Let my heart
Stay firm.

And if others
Try to push past
The stone wall...
Well, let them push.
They won't get far.

Don't Know, Can't Hurt

No guilt
No fear
Don't know
Can't hurt
Feel free

Razor!
Slices
Blood flows
No tears
Rush high
Feels good.
But they
Don't know
Can't hurt.

Leg stings
Feels good
I like
Most pain.
I'm weird?
Maybe
That's me.
Can hide
From you
You can't
See past
My mask.
Can't see
Can't hurt.
All good

She looks...
Watch out
My friend
Don't dig
Too deep
Don't find
What you
Seek for
Only
Darkness
Awaits.
What you
Can't see
Won't hurt.

No hope
Don't want
Fine where
I am.
Cuts solve
Nothing.
They can't.
Don't care
Like it.

Don't see
Can't hurt

Hyanda Ar' Agar

It's only really when I'm unsure
Of the path I want, of the purpose pure,
If I don't really want to fall...
Only then do to you I call

'Cause there are nights like tonight
When I don't wanna fight the fight
When you're a text or call away
But I don't want to even pray

Satan's already won this time
Right now he controls my mind
And I held out my hands to be bound tight
This time, didn't even try to fight

And now the tears begin their slide
But I don't really have to hide
Because aside from a silent phone
I'm here in my room all alone

In keeping their precious kids away
The deans just enable me to say
"I'm alone and cut off from
Almost all who could help, plus some."

BnK are great an all
And they've helped stop lots of falls
But the pain that makes blood run
Is part from feeling all alone!

Leaves in ink on skin, they grew
Bload-soaked leaves on paper, too
Forty days and forty nights
But Satan finally won the fight

Now he's calling me, and he stirs my pain
And he laughs at me, and yanks my chain
By chains of blood and blades I'm bound
And I won't reach out, so no help's found.