Jr

some people just leave

broken skin, broken bones,

but I did the breaking while you whispered

and steeled my heart. Me, endangered,

and you giving me bloody pages/poems, dark landline calls

and never forgiving the nothing I did.

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Panic & Attack at College

trapped in a corner between fault and mistake

my heart beats so hard

and so loud

all sense is obscured in sick fear (blind and deaf)

all that is left is skin (touch.)

In this darkness of thought and sight

I wrap my arms around human anchors (reality breaks)

and quake till the waves stop.

Panic & Attack in America

a girl screamed like an animal and I woke

only a screen and ten feet of air

separating me from their fight

the Jersey Shore turned ugly at 2 a.m.

I cowered against the pale wall, swaddled in dark sheets

the only light from the porch flourescent across the way

flickering punches and profanity flew thick

she kept screaming, begging on her knees for them to stop

pulling on their clothing, now torn and bloody

my heartbeat in my eyes, resounding with

dull thuds of knuckles on flesh

scrambling for each other’s pain, falling down the stairs

their faces broken and twisted, they were not human anymore, I shook

and they tossed a tanned shirtless [someone] over the third floor balcony

she shrieked and was cut off, thrown into the wall – “shut up”

my windpipe closed just in time for the cops to show up

they pounded up the stairs yelling, guns waved around

she was crying softly now, I retched into the sink

mascara running down her face as they barked questions at her

I choked on

a horror in me awake, that visited

every night, the fear

that feels like dying

and nothing will be or is

beautiful;the demon animal in their faces

that triggers a break  in me, of mind and body

I am eaten and fall

consistent metaphor

The ice is thin, but I am light

just enough to glide on it, twirling

giddy, over-the-top sliding

“Having fun?” they ask from the well-lit sidelines

I am. For now I can spin

just waiting for that incredible plunge

that sudden second of insecurity

which pulls me

under

to be lost again, always drowning,

fists dull-thump pounding up

trapped beneath.

Lexapro and me.

Someone once told me that I was incredibly selfish for not taking God’s creation as enough for me to be happy. That, to be a good person, I had to be joyful all the time every day and the fact that I wasn’t just proved how ignorant and lost I was.

Another person told me that I “didn’t need” medication, that the drugs were a waste of time and bad for me. They assumed I could make it since they had gotten through life just fine without – they’d even been to counseling!

I’ve heard all these and more. That my life isn’t hard enough to merit medication – what have I gone through, really? Blank stares, awkward silences, whatever stereotype they’ve heard or the name of someone they know on meds for depression/anxiety – something SERIOUS, unlike my situation.

The truth is, I am incredibly weak. I can’t handle a single day without feeling like my heart is being crushed by my ribs, I can’t force myself to smile, and I am convinced that I am the single most pathetic and useless person on this planet – that the world would be better off without me. There are times when, out of the blue, fear washes over me to the point where I am physically paralyzed. It is beyond my control, and that makes it all the more terrifying.

I know, your life is not like this. You are stronger than I.

I would do anything to stop these feelings – everything that convinces me that I am worthless, and will never be able to overcome it. It’s like drowning in shadows and darkness, suffocating sorrow not directed from any specific source but overwhelming nonetheless. So yes, I am ashamed of Lexapro and my dependence on it. I wish I didn’t have to take it. I feel unbelievably pathetic for doing so, but not as pathetic as I feel without it.

There are some people who are like glowing pure light in my little dark world and being with them chases every evil away – I will do anything to be as close as I can to them to keep the dark running so I can finally sleep….

All I ask is you not run away from my struggles and stand by my side so that I may have the strength to fight on.

quiet afternoon

IMG_3685

Depression is really, really, unbelievably difficult sometimes. Especially as a student, when you’re away from family, you’re plugged into the same old schedule constantly and the piles of work are crushing you.

I had a rough week. But probably everyone had a rough week. That doesn’t make me that special or anything. I just wanted to publicly make a note that I am out of the slump yet again. I have no doubt that it’ll be back, but I crawled out of my own self-loathing and fear and am now happily enjoying a quiet Saturday with paints and Johnny Cash.

The really cool thing about depression, in my experience, is when I’m doing well I become so blissfully thankful for it that the good compounds upon itself and I am radiant. So for those days I fight, I strive forwards towards something “better”, an ultimate state of appreciation and love or whatever waits ahead.

People keep telling me to take joy in the little things. What else is there to take joy in? The big things are scary, unfathomable and far away. So yes, I am happy with these little things. My head is down, my hands are folded, and maybe something beautiful will come of all this. Not today, but someday. I am resigned to hope.

IMG_3694

in which I express how much I do not understand the youth of America and their social inconsistencies

one night on after a night off, it’s

so frustrating the way each of you check in check out

of my life, our relationship. “You can trust me”

“I’m here for you”, etcetera. You have my number. This

is supposed friendship and connection, supposedly

we are friends, yet when I turned

you down you walked away to find

someone who would say yes.

So when I am spent, broken, wrecked

and hurting so, so badly, I cannot know that you will be there. Many

are not interested, they say I am melodramatic and over-the-top.

“I just don’t know what to say”

as if there is a right answer to this question – Help me?

silence is a no. thanks for that, by the way.

Last night, I am called upon

to wipe up blood, clean cuts

wrap one up in bandages and make a cup of tea

because no one will respond. This

hyper-individualization of self expression makes

introspection a dirty word. Your selfishness

is cowardice, but of course

what you have to say is most important, most relevant, most true.

Ridiculous. Sickening.

The point is, a semi-African girl will handle this

attempt at suicide willingly because

all we have is love and that is enough. God,

find us here and help me survive

these individuals.