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.