How do I describe the feeling?

The feeling when your head feels like it’s going to drop, your skin is on fire and your throat hurts from choking back the screams and tears?

The feeling when you see no tomorrow, no purpose- nothing. Everything is cold and empty but you feel hot inside- burning with rage and sorrow. All you do is curl up on the floor with your head on your knees and your arms wrapped around your legs, swing back and forth against a wall, wishing you could just be enough.

You bang your fists and pull your hair wanting to leave everyone and everything and just let go.

What a blessing and a curse it is to think and feel so deeply.

You look at yourself in the mirror and think, I’m so fucking tired of being me. Who knew breathing could be so damn hard? 

Your skin looks blotchy, your hair hasn’t been washed for days and your eyes are red. The only sounds are your light sobs and your tears hitting the basin.

Drip, drop, drip.

It’s funny how people appear to be completely different on the outside than what they are on the inside. How you are laughing on the outside and nobody suspects anything because all your feelings are caged inside you, constantly tugging and pulling on the chains, threatening to come out.

And then they do. It’s funny when you realise all the strength you put in keeping it inside is all a waste. All it takes is for you to drop something on the floor with a crash and the next thing you know is that it’s you on the floor and your strength snaps in two. Crying and screaming and struggling- everyday is a battle. It’s so difficult to even get out of the bed and get ready every single goddamn day. At night, you can’t sleep and in the morning, you can’t wake up.

And then one day you decide: This is it, I can’t take this anymore. You feel yourself wanting to withdraw, to detach and just letting things go. But withdrawing means losing. And you do. You pick up the blade and run your finger over your wrist in wonder, your tiny pulse throbbing under your thumb. So simple. You realise you can do it anytime, any day. All it takes is a tiny scratch. You bring it close. You grip it tight and increase the pressure. It pierces your skin but you feel nothing. 


Do you?

Do you know what it’s like,

to lie in bed awake

with thoughts to haunt

you every single night,

of your past mistakes.

Do you know what it’s like,

to lie in bed awake

knowing sleep will set things right-

if you were not to wake.

A nightmare.



Stiff hands curled around the familiar curves of a brush.


The smooth roughness of a new canvas.

Familiar smell of handmade paint.


My heart beats fast at the thought of making something. It’s been years.


The brush glides on the canvas.



This old tune is playing in my head.



Someone’s coming. Quick, hide everything.


“He’s here to see you.”


My heart skips a beat. I can’t breathe.

“I’m letting him in.”

Please don’t. They were about to leave my head.





I can recognize the sound of those shoes anywhere.


I feel numb.




Screws and bolts come rolling at my feet.


I’m shaking. The bed shakes with me.

Rough hands grabbing my arms, pulling me up.

The whole room is shaking now.

Slap! Slap!

My cheeks feel hot and my ears are ringing.

An icy voice-

“You pathetic bitch.”

I just stand there, my shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Stop whimpering. You deserve it. You murderer.”

I deserve this. I am pathetic. I wish I was strong enough to fight him.

I deserve this. I am a killer. But I didn’t mean to.

A hand stroking my breast, lifting the hem of my hospital gown.

I can’t see anything, I can’t hear anything.

It just hurts so much and I can’t make it go away.


The bed stops shaking. The room stops spinning.

But they return.


Bullies, crystal meth.


My baby brother, mom, our minivan, laughter.

They think I’m happy.

I’m driving, everyone’s sleeping, It’s late.

Tires skidding, losing control.


Dad’s blaming me, even now.

He’s right, I took it all away from him.

Nobody believes me. They all believe him.

He’s my doctor, after all.


I’m on my feet. I can’t take it anymore.

I know what to do.


I can feel my fingers again.

My wooden brush snaps in half.


This is it.

Sharp edges digging in my forearm.


Faster, then slower.


Everything looks white.


I hope I get another chance.

I feel lighter.