Archive for July, 2009

I’m one among too many.

Posted in Art, anxiety, dark, depression, people, personal with tags , , , , , on July 31, 2009 by imaginaryfears

 

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If I had it in my control, I would erase the world along with the whole universe. My trying has no strength. I’ve been waiting forever just to see that nothing can be done—nothing will move. I could yell all I want and plead for how desperate I am, but to this world and these people, my words are just more to add to the noise of every other number out there, pleading as I am. We’re nobody to each other.

I can’t go through another year of dreading the days I wake up to. I don’t think I was meant to make it on my own in this life. Where’s my motivation, after all? Why am I more afraid of the future years I might have and not so scared to cut them short, or even to try to?

Yesterday while at the store my mother and I went to pick up an air mattress and a pillow and I didn’t think we’d need a cart, but with my mother being the way she is, we went into the checkout line with both of our hands full of needed things. Well, there was this woman there with a cart. She worked there and saw how full my arms had been, struggling to hold a huge box, a giant pillow and how my mother had packs of paper towels and cans stacked around her feet. The worker refused to lend us the cart she had when we asked. Instead she told us “I can’t give up my cart, but there right over there” nodding at the direction. Then she placed one small toy in her cart that another customer decided they didn’t want, and walked off.—I can’t even express how angry I was after witnessing that. I’d just returned from walking the whole food section looking for meat that wasn’t even carried (with the box and pillow still in my arms) and someone who works at the store goes and does something like that to us…She could have given us her cart and walked “right over there” to get another one for herself. I’m just glad another employee saw it happen.   

It was really just more proof for why I’d rather stay away from everyone—because just one prick can make the whole day feel like a disappointment. But what I was most aware of, even before the cart thing happened, was how a dark mood completely fell over me while walking through the store. I pretty much looked through everyone I passed as if they weren’t even there, but the irritation was building. By the time we walked out I was sure I would go home and take the anger out on myself, but it didn’t get that far. Yet right now I’m sitting here wishing it had.

Maybe it’s my body trying to adjust to the 200mg I took the night before, or maybe my not eating enough and trying to calm my hunger with drinking water the entire day; the entire week actually. I might just be trying to trade in one kind of emptiness for another. I’d rather feel hungry physically than feel empty or numb emotionally and have no control over when it goes away.        

….I’ve talked too long here haven’t I….

The painting above is supposed to be an angel with torn, bloody wings. Well, maybe it’s not an angel, but that was the idea. It had to be dark and I tried my best to make it look a little creepy as well. There’s another version of this on my art page (it’s the first image).

Ellipsis

Posted in Art, Death, depression, poems, poetry with tags , , , , on July 20, 2009 by imaginaryfears


 

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Ellipsis

Face down,
I found myself
I crawl now, I am weak
My rise and fall are steep
Recurring trip and fall to cheek,
The comfort of my failures at close length
Sorrow filled thoughts I seek, I keep…
Those dark beliefs I grieve, I need….

For all the ones who never see
How many times I bleed

They live for the rising sun
I breathe beneath the dying one
An inflamed impurity of my unspoken pain
I knot a chain of nerve to vein; the screams are kept contained
My secret’s until death—sustained,
With un-dissolving hate for myself
For being the mistake; surviving for the other’s sake…
Continuing to be the only one I hurt, I blame…

For owning the full illness
In every breath I take

 

I just finished this one. I may add music and make a song out of it one of these days. Because the song I’ve been working on forever is about to get thrown away if a better idea doesn’t find its way to me.

I made a mistake in taking more medication. I want to laugh at the joke I am for trying my best to ‘figure it out’, for trying to stay safe and mindful of my actions. I woke up today feeling so drugged–I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to eat. May as well have been dead. Guess I’ll have to try something else. That’s all I have to keep me running in some way, even if at such a slow pace. Still here, as lost as ever.

 

It’s pathetic. I keep thinking about it.

Posted in Death, depression, pain, poems, poetry, suicide with tags , , , , , on July 18, 2009 by imaginaryfears

I went to my family reunion today. It was a little bit more on the side of being a disappointment this year, as last year was, but hey, I didn’t expect I’d be around another year to make it to the ‘09 reunion, so anyway. I won a few prizes in the raffle. I made it through the whole day without getting frustrated with my surroundings like last year. But I’m not so sure that means improvement. It only means I had a lucky day where nothing broke the surface.

I’m going to take an extra 50mg of my medication tonight. Something’s not going right here. I keep thinking about taking my knife out, and using it to cut something besides just my tablet pills in half. This doesn’t happen often. But it’s like there are tears I’m keeping held so tightly from falling. I believe crying won’t be enough; that it’ll make this all worse and I will no longer have anything at all to hold onto, you know?

Look at me. Trying to explain a feeling I just can’t make sound very rational. There’s not too much about the person I am and what I feel that makes sense anymore. I’m guilty. My constant gloomy moods do feel like they are my fault. All my fault. And everything I’ve done lately to save myself has fallen short.

It might happen. The next time this odd feeling of being abandoned in some way by another person, or too full on sadness, or too sick with the world or the very body I’m trapped in…When I can’t breathe as I think of how I’m so easily thrown aside by others; or further, when I feel I should not only be thrown aside but shredded up and thrown away. I’ve got to deal with this some way.

I’m slowly working on new writings, but I’m definitely repeating myself. What’s below is something I wrote that hints at the three month course I took. I feel just as connected to it right now though. Just in a slightly different way.

Pages of butchered work
Somewhere else, I went
From all hell…this evidence
A slit throat of hurt

They made me out in the dark
Zaps, frizz and jitter of will
Cycled in unreal certainty; the chill
Guarded shrine of my still, dead heart

To be given a chance
The lie must be exquisite
A firm belief; a rare incision’s
Edge and unknown plan

 

Enough

Posted in Death, Hate, Thoughts, pain, personal, poems, poetry, suicide with tags , , , , , , , on July 15, 2009 by imaginaryfears

Too much has been going on at once in my life right now. Or maybe it just feels that way. I’m constantly trying to distract myself from feeling this sort of loss inside. I’m waiting on other people now before my volunteering can begin at the hospital.

Why the hell does society have to make everything so difficult? I’m basically being harassed by debt collectors about my student loan. They’ll get their money when I get a damn job. It makes me want to lose it. Life costs too much and it isn’t worth it to me. Never was…is never going to be…

I received a letter from my therapist. An apology letter actually. She’d like me to come back, but I feel at an end with letting others try to pull thoughts from my head. I live in my secrets and they are going to be what kill me. End of story. My mind has already gone back to what it’s comfortable with. Why break it up when there’s nothing of value to me in doing so?

I have moments now where I feel guilt trying to well up, over my still being alive. Over how long I’ve let myself go without punishing myself. Despite the changes I’ve gotten used to, there’s still something about making it through another day that I just hate. I don’t want to have to hold on.

I don’t have faith I’ll get a job. Everything comes too late for me. I feel like any real opportunity will come only after I’m too dead and gone to take it up.

Either fast forward or
Drop and shatter dead
Time, in the rest of life
I’d rather not spend

I feel the edge of sudden end
Cold against my temple
Hanging my stick arms by rope
It wields its knife against my throat

“I’m well” will never mean I’m healed
It drags me away by the strings of vein
From my wrists, pulled through their bone
The blood ways wrestled from my soul

My voice lends a base
I understand that I should die
In gray of graves, a funeral haze
My blade peak high

Stolen (poem title likely to change…lol)

Posted in Art, Death, Thoughts, personal, poems, poetry with tags , , , , , on July 3, 2009 by imaginaryfears

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The past lives I used to dream…
Moon bitten, lost in lunacy

I don’t hear it telling you
That you’re the worst God’s given breath
There’s nothing alive left in me
My essence is dried up flesh

Buy me tears; buy me a beating
All the more sweet for distracting me
They hover low; I watch the angels thieve my wings
And off they go, dragging their feet

Now I am as bitter and old
As the death curl of a blackened rose
Ever there, as the gripping rope
Of a suffocating smoke

The ghost of a stolen soul
Away, in cold kisses blown, I go

 

This is one of the new ones I’ve written. Maybe I’m getting worse or maybe I’m just not getting any better, either way I sort of like this one. It sounds different to me and that’s what I’m trying to go for. The title is confusing me now so that’s hopefully the only thing I’ll end up changing.  

After

Posted in Death, Thoughts, pain, personal, poems, poetry, suicide with tags , , , , , , on July 1, 2009 by imaginaryfears

My right ear
Against the floor of my cell
I’d know of it, if I could see
But my eyes aren’t open, and
It’s too late for me to breathe

The night’s resulting splay-
Vile liquid pooling from my lips
Cold crust sealing my eyes shut
Mind pouring in the end

I’ve gone, but the fan above continues
Its swaying motion of brokenness,
The world still throws itself dizzy, round and round
And the eyes of heaven’s darkness still burst and bleed

And somewhere a rain is falling. The heroes
Put away their faces and graze in dark solitude
In shame for the lives they can not admit
Could never have been saved

——

One of the newer ones but it’s from March, before I started class. It’s just finished today that’s all…I don’t know why, but I’m a little nervous about posting any of the more recent stuff I’ve written.  I guess I need to settle with the idea that I’m going to be writing about the same things, until something really changes in my life. I’m far too comfortable with writing about certain things. Even when I do attempt to write on a completely different topic, it always comes back to what’s familiar to me, if I make any sense with that. I’m working on it though.