A poem that I wrote in the hospital

Vanishing Particles

Watch me as I drift away,
I'm floating in the galaxy.
Stars for eyes,
Planets for brains,
enigmas for hair,
I'm so far gone.

Watch me as I break,
I'm crushed into dust,
pinpricks of blood as I dance
I'm laughing at pain,
Peals of fullness,
I'm so miserable.

Watch me as I imitate,
I'm your very best puppet,
extremities clicking together as I put on a show.
See how my smile is a millisecond off?
I'm not real.

Watch me as I slit my wrists,
I'm too tired,
Pretty red streams running away from me,
Drops of bile,
Happy thoughts,
I'm serene at last.

Perfectly Still

Find me in a crowd,
Look for me in a dark corner,
Run, to feel the wind,
Everything hurts
All the time.

People take up all the oxygen in the room,
leaving me gasping for breathe.

Dark thoughts are a constant,
My blade my only relief.
It's a fog of apathy,
A rising mist of numbness,
Nothing matters,
What could captivate me now?

Days pass by in a haze,
It's a stasis, not a life
Some days dip too far, and slide from my grasp
I can feel my brain losing the comforting fog
For something much worse.

It comes over me slowly at first,
Then it hits me full force,
Depression.

...

All I can do is lie perfectly still
Hoping it won't be too bad
As the waves of pain and despair crush me
My lungs are constricted,
My breath hurts,

I cower in my closet
Hiding in the dark,
Hugging myself, hoping to contain my insides as they start to spill out
Tears pouring,
Sobs erupting from deep down inside

...

The world is too painful,
It's filled with hurt, and woe,
Everything presses in on me,
and there's already too much in me.
I'm out of room, out of energy.

I retreat to the closet,
To huddle in the safety
It's like a womb,
Dark, comfortable, safe.
Hopefully my next safe place will be my grave.

A coffin to keep the world out,
A plot of ground all to myself
No one to bother me,
Or to tell me that I have to keep fighting,
Just lying perfectly still.

Watch Me Fade

I am a shadow,

A reflection of a reflection.

The soul of an echo.

I am not real.

I am not whole.

I am desperately imitating life.

Snow falls all around me, but I leave no prints.

People talk, and I fade in and out,

Never quite here,

Even surrounded.

Smoke in the scorching wind.

Death is my desire,

Pain my birthright.

Fading into the night.

Lost in oblivion.

Emotions are difficult,

Ties to be avoided,

Family leave,

Darkness swirls,

I'm drowning in the riptide,

Lungs filling with blood.

Give me a blade, I'll carve you a person,

I'll slit my wrists, I'll slice my thighs, 

And sliver my skin until I resemble human.

I'm an artist of imitation,

A mask that breathes,

And the shell bleeds red

I'm gone.

Dead, animated by necessity.

When I destroy the shell and lie in that coffin, put flowers in my hair.

Sing me to sleep,
Sing to me a a lullaby of the past,

And watch me fade.

My Dear

Posted on behalf of the Kumari.

Whisper my name, tell me you love me.

Dusk is looming, I’m scared,

It wants to possess me, own me,

Destroy me.

Darkness is my long lost friend.

He missed my soul.

Promises of sinking oblivion.

Drops of water

Whisper my name, keep hold of me.

I’m slipping.

Slipping too far away.

Into the night,

Past dusk and dawn.

To a secret rendezvous with darkness.

He wants me.

Pouring rain.

Whisper my name, watch me fade.

I’m a wisp of humanity,

A leaf fluttering away.

Dusk is long gone,

Darkness has my name.

I’m losing myself,

He whispers to me.

Crashing waves.

Yell my name, it’s too late.

Let me go my dear.

Run all the Reds

I love when my cares fall away, crashing to the dance floor,

glitter in the flickering lights,

it isn't fun til the room starts to spin,

twirl round, and round,

move to the beat,

we are a crush of people trying to forget.

I love it when the noise in my head subsides, replaced by music.

Another shot of tequila, sucking the lime, wanting so much to feel right

Keep moving, keep pretending, just keep dancing 

It will get better

A shot of vodka

Try dancing with the guy sweating under the lights

giggle with your friends in the bathroom

The smells of vomit and your watermelon lip gloss mixing

Look out for each other,
You never know .

I love it when I feel weightless, 

I float when I walk, I smile when I dance.

Nothing matters, 

My cares are dust under my stilettos

Ground down by the crowd of people leading desperate lives,

One last shot

I love the solidarity found in an overstuffed room, of music and people with an unspoken agreement,

Just pretend it's okay, and don't call anyone's shit

Maybe one more shot

To forget

Color outside the lines,

Dance like you don't give a damn,

Lie in the snow,

Let him grab you,

It doesn't matter anyway

Speed through all the lights

Never stop dancing.

Drink until you float away, far, far away.

Clutch him closer

Close your eyes, feel the beat, scream,

Keep pretending that it doesn't matter

Let him treat you like an object, he will buy you a drink.

Really, you are using him too 

Just hold him close and pretend it's real.

Drink another Shot

Dance the night away, dance your life away

Run all the reds,

Lose count of the shots

swirl in the glitter,

wavering lights,

pounding beat,

just pretend

Too Many Angry Thoughts (unfiltered)

I haven't posted or written in quite awhile.  I don't really have any good excuses.   I'm mostly just lazy, and emotionally drained.  Plus it seems like there is too much to say, and not enough at the same time. I will now take a stab at digging through my jumbled thoughts enough to come up with something worth sharing.  Wish me luck :)

I have been struggling with feeling angry more then I would like.  I  remember being a young child and becoming extremely angry which would lead to punishment, and should have led to learning a better way of coping.  Instead it led to extreme guilt and denial.  As I'm sure you know, this can cause to some not so fun explosions.

I am angry at myself for being this way.  I hate feeling so broken, and helpless.  I am angry that I have a mental illness.

In some ways I'm mad at God for letting me hurt this badly, and for the fact that I don't feel like I can be close to him.  I'm mad at myself for being messed up, and so despicable.  I am also angry at my birth parents.  As irrational as it is, I'm mad at my mom for dying, and my dad for giving me away. I'm mad at my adoptive parents for making me feel unloved, and like I don't measure up.

My therapist said that they are a big part of what turned my attachment disorder into an actual mental illness.  I probably have a learning disability that they never realized and I have asthma that went undiagnosed.  I am really struggling not to blame them for my poor physical and mental health.  If I do in fact have a learning disability that would explain my struggles with school.  Not just that I am "lazy and unmotivated."  My asthma is very bad and might not have gotten as bad if it were treated.


If they had taken me seriously maybe I wouldn't be sitting here right now typing this blog about my mental illness and my life that makes me want to die.


I am so mad.  I don't like anger, it is strong and scary, and turns me into a person I don't like.  I am so mad that I have a mental illness.  I feel like my parent's ignored so many of my struggles choosing instead to focus on some of the external symptoms and to chastise me for failing.

I am mad that every time I did something wrong it turned into a talk about who I was and how that was ultimately a bad person.  I am mad that they caused me so much pain, then were angry when I tried to end the pain with a razor blade.  They never really seemed to listen.  I am mad that they don't want to have a relationship with me unless I act a certain way.  I don't want conditional parents.  I am not a daughter, I am an orphan.  I am choosing to be alone, because every parent I have had has caused me terrible pain.

I can't take feeling this way.  I can't take all of the anger, and all of the guilt towards the anger.  I seek out other emotionally abusive relationships because they feel safer to me, more familiar, and they represent love to me.

Family, love, and commitment do not mean the same things that they do to other people.  I can't love, because I can't love myself.  All that was communicated to me was that I am beyond love.  I am subhuman.  I am a narcissist.  I think that I am above others, but also below.

 I don't like things that tie me to reality, like mindfulness.  I don't' want to be aware of my dependence on food and air.  I don't wan too feel the chair against my skin.  I can't be aware of anything without forming an opinion.  I envy those with hallucinations.  Reality is too painful.


 I think that if God actually loved me he would let me die.  I'm in too much pain.  I'm too mad.  I'm too Broken.

Perfection

5/30/2013

It’s not okay. I can lie to you and tell you everything that you want to hear, I’m actually really good at that.  Practice makes perfect I guess.  I’m pretty sure that I learned that skill in early childhood, somewhere around when I learned to talk.  I always know what you want me to say.  “It’s okay.” It’s such a short simple statement, and such a lie.  Someone please give me the freedom to be honest.

            I know that if I’m going to be truthful I will have to give you small manageable pieces, and even those you tend to ignore after what you think is a decent interval.  Let me just tell you, I am a depressed, suicidal, cutter of many years, with an early eating disorder, and a mental illness. It’s not okay.  I can’t keep bearing the weight of your expectations, just let me be.  When I don’t see you for months it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I know you can’t handle seeing me this way.  It takes so much for me to keep pretending. I can do, but it’s killing me.

Two suicide attempts in the last month and a half and you still aren’t taking this seriously.  You still seem to think that I’m “just acting out.”  No. I’m hurting so badly that I don’t see any way out, and instead of loving me no matter what you blame me.  You caused a lot of this and you have ignored it until things got too bad and there was too much blood to ignore.  How much blood do I have to lose for you to notice?  Eventually I’m going to run out of blood.  You seem scared to death of losing me, but all you do is hold me tighter, and invalidate me further.  I’m sinking, I’m drowning, I’m scared and you aren’t saving me. Maybe I’m asking too much of you., but I won’t live through the next attempt

A Poem about Suicide EXPLICIT CONTENT (possible trigger)

Reasons Why

She sits with one thought,

Of the end.

The promise of peace is giving her breath.

The light hurts her eyes.

Dark has become so familiar;

It used to scare her, but now it comforts.

A bottle of vodka her aid not her reason.

The wind sighs in the trees outside her window,

Dusk is watching her,

The light in her room is warmth that she can’t feel.

She sits on her floor by the bed thinking about last words.

None of hers are going to be meaningful or poetic,

She has written pages upon pages of that and no one listened.

Knowing what she wants to say she picks up the thin blade,

One last statement,

One last explanation.

She lowers the blade over her left arm and carefully cuts the word “hated” into her skin,

Watching as the blood comes to the surface and runs red.

Next is on her stomach the word “fat” is cut under the ribcage.

Then her inner thigh, adorned with the word “slut.”

Her leg says “BPD.”

“Sad” carved near her ankle.

She finishes with a heart on her chest.

Another shot of vodka,

Turn up the music until it hurts,

No more thought,

She has had enough of thought,

No time for regret,

Slicing her wrist open in bold, practiced strokes.

More Vodka, feeling it seep through her veins as blood spills out,

Bleeding on the bottle.

Another slash with the razor blade,

Blinding white pain

As her wrist splits apart, a smile,

The cut artery spraying her in warm blood,

Then gushes, like a faucet turned on full force

Hands slippery with blood reaching for her phone,

Speed dialing number five, unsure if whether or not she wants an answer

The voice of her best friend on the answering machine,

Leaving a message saying that it’s too late, but she loves her,

She’s so sorry that she wasn't strong enough.

Feeling sick as the blood loss takes its toll.

Hoping to God that she made the right decision, for peace

Slumping to the ground, wrist gushing,

Thinking about last thoughts,

As the darkness sets in for good this time.

A Long Boring Post About Pain and Therapy... without any funny parts, just sadness

I sometimes feel like an empty shell, hollowed out by something I can't even remember.  The only Kumari I have ever known has been lacking, and always feels alone.  When I think about the future
I have so much trouble feeling any sense of hope, or anything other then tired.  I never planned on living this long.  My therapist asked me for my goals, at this point the only thing I'm excited about is seeing "Mumford and Sons" in October.  I guess hide the blades after the concert.

(I started this post on Wednesday)

Today my therapist said that the three worst calamities of childhood are; loss of a loved one, abandonment, and fear of imperfection.  She went on to say that my birth mother dying when I was one year old, then being put up for adoption by my birth father when I was two years old, and years of feeling like I couldn't live up to my adoptive parent's expectations fulfilled all of the worst calamities.

Maybe I shouldn't feel so guilty for not being okay.

My birth mother dying of an illness was not her fault.  As a twenty-one year old adult I know this, but as a one year old child I'm guessing that I didn't understand.  The sad part is that I'm pretty sure the one year old child is the one whose opinion weighs in more heavily.  My mother died, I'm not really sure how to process this.  It's been 20 years and I still don't know what to think about it. I remember as a child that it felt really unreal.  Avoidance has always been my dear friend. I think that occasionally I would try to wrap my head around it and would cry for a woman I don't remember.

My birth father died when I was six (I think). I was told that he gave me up for adoption because he loved me and wanted me to have a better life.  That's probably true, but it doesn't change the fact that a little two year old girl was handed to strangers, then watched as her dad walked away and didn't come back for her.  (I don't remember this I'm just guessing).  Then four years later she is told that the man she doesn't remember as her dad is dead.  He died in a boating accident.  I didn't know how to feel.  In life no one can fully explain how to feel.  I found a letter from him maybe another four or eight years later.  It made me cry.

Fear of imperfection.  Something I know well.  In fact if you are talking to me I am listening but I am also keeping tabs on your body language, tones, expression, and the way you phrase everything.
I want to achieve things, mostly I don't want to fail or disappoint.  I'm still convinced that everyone will wind up leaving.  I know that I'm hard to love.  That was told to me on an almost daily basis for years. I was never good enough, I was difficult.  Sometimes what my parents would say about me, or their guessed motives to my actions showed that they had a very very low opinion of me.  It was obvious that they didn't understand.  I never wanted to hurt them.  It kills me that I have, but everything I did was only because I hurt so much and I don't know what else to do.

Wanting to die is not about me wanting to hurt people, it's more that I think that if I die maybe the people I care about will stop hurting.

I'm pretty sure that if I succeed my parent's will be sad but also relieved.  A clean break as they say.

A Poem on Inability

Held 

Days pass me by

Calendar pages blowing in the wind
The clock shattered last month
Broken glass fills the room
An icy storm invites itself in

As months pass I fall
I can’t seem to rise again
Slipping on the wet floor
Rainwater mixed with blood
Held together by apathy
The only sunlight I see, fragmented

Read me a story about a girl
I can’t be alone, trapped in my mind
Glass fills my head
My thoughts, in pieces
As the rain pours in
Running red as it hits me
As the years pass by
Alone

The Stars

Written During my First stay in the oh so lovely Cedar Springs.  (really though for a facility like that it was probably pretty good, and some of the staff were pretty amazing.)  One of the patients was helping me with my writing, he had me write a list of words then write a piece with them.  He was a really good writer.  My list of words for how I felt was; confused, numb, desire, overwhelmed, lost, weak, lonely.  Here is the piece of writing that was created.


The Stars
I'm lost in a swirl of mist, numb and alone.  Trying so hard to care.  Up and up I float.  maybe I will see the stars, or maybe my vision is already too obscured by the mist surrounding me.  I used to fight the numbness, now the only pain I allow is the pain shooting up my wrist.  I am too weak not to give in to the emptiness.  Overwhelmed by living I let myself go, hoping that maybe the current I ride will dash me against a rock again and again.  Until it all fades away to nothing.  Weakness describes me, loneliness is my friend. The last rays of desire in my now desolate life confuse me.  Do I encourage the small desire for more, or just give the numbness free reign? I just want to see the stars.

I really want to write a book called either "The Stars" or "Glitter on the Horizon" or "The Space Between Words"

Basically the book of me, I'm almost afraid of writing it because who knows what I might find.  Or finally say, writing has always been the voice I felt I didn't have in real life.  I said everything that I wanted to say, but couldn't.  I'm pretty perceptive, I have always known my problems fairly well.  Which has never been an asset, rather something else to keep people at a distance and to use in the construction of my mask.  I'm not really afraid of what I'll learn about myself, I over analyze that in fact, more about what people will think of what I say.  Who truly likes hearing the truth?

I'm Too "Meh" to Title This

"I’m very high functioning. I’m an actress, who has perfected the part, because it never ends.  Everyone knows that the best way to sell a part is to believe in it.  I know that my performance is convincing when I have forgotten where the truth ends and the lies began.  I am happy I’m very much akin to any other 21 year old, and I hardly ever think about dark depressing topics because I would much rather go shoe shopping.  I am fun loving, frivolous, and a bit impulsive, I am friendly, and love my friends dearly.  None of those are outright lies it just excludes the blackness seeping through my heart, depression, or the mental illness that is stealing my brain.  It isn't factoring in the nights when I cry and try to slit my wrists, or the times that I’m drinking to get away from the pain."

(an excerpt from one of my pieces of writing called 'Of Perceptions') 

Some days elude description.  Of  course that gives me this sinking feeling that blogging in fact may not be for me.   There have been more bad times then good recently, and the good aren't seeming worth it. I don't even want to lie in the grass, because it was really itchy, and the stars don't seem as bright.  Everything seems foggy, unimportant.  I hate feeling so helpless.  BPD is making me so miserable I don't know how to stand it.  Depression is a bitch.  I hate falling apart as often and badly as I do.  last night was bad, today was bad, everything is doomed to be bad always.       

I'm insufferable.  I'm too depressed to even be slightly encouraged by the idea of lying in a grave, or floating in space.  I want to die, but also I'm too depressed to try.  If I lie very still, eyes closed, praying, will I be granted my wish?  So many attempts on my life, and no success seems to be a testament to the depths of my failure.  Not even sleeping gave me relief from my  mind, rather it tortured me with nightmares.  Why can't I feel better?

Princess of Hearts

I want to cut a heart into my chest

Red lines, red blood, red pain

Empty life dripping away

Streams of sadness

Black bile

Someone please give me a reason

Something to hold onto

I’m sinking deeper each day

Drowning my thoughts away

Just hoping for relief

Every breath burns

Leave me alone

In the dark

I’m already Gone

Maybe if I cut a heart I’ll have one of my own

It hurts too much

It hurts


(written in Cedar Springs)

Heavy Heart

Dear heavy heart rest awhile

 Lay your head on the grass and dream for me
 I watch you trying to survive this storm
Wondering, will it ever end?


Your thoughts are my thoughts
On the ground sinking down, through the grass
Past it all until it's you, floating in space
Clinging to all that’s left
Cradling the broken pieces of your heavy, heavy heart

 Pain etched on your face, tears stream down
 First one,
 Then a flood that cannot be contained
 All of your pain
 Curled up,  
 Waiting
 It must end sometime

Dearest broken hearted girl
Screaming in your head
Crying through the days
Lying on the ground sinking down
Down
Ever down

Dear heavy heart let go

2012