Quiet In the Dark

This is the painting I finished a week ago. I wanted to show something about what I hold onto. Everything that hurts basically. And like in the one before this, the person represents one greater than what I am now. What I could be, except in this one she’s with dark around the eyes and a black shape for a mouth representing silence. I didn’t plan this painting out too well, but I think that’s why I liked working on it so much. Even though I didn’t know where I was going with it, I worked in detail, so at least I can feel good about that.

I’ve written more than I have in months from my computer being out so many days. I’ll have some of that up soon hopefully. I’m trying my best not to fall apart as I look back on this past year, my birthday being around the corner and all. I didn’t want the circumstances to be the same, but I have not done enough on my part to deserve a change. And another years is just hard to think about right now.

I tip-toe the sharpened edge

Stay away,
You can’t be responsible for this
These open wide cries
This splitting of my wrists

I’m standing at the end
I tip-toe the sharpened edge
May this reckless air be blessed
My higher soul I do not stress
On I press, so limited
It’s all that I can do
The risk I carve right through
To give myself little more room

To linger as a wound
Slit of pattern-less time
Sorted fast out of line
As the blood begins to dry

Just wanted to post the painting I did that goes with this poem. Below is a skull drawing I’m beginning. If I can get my head clear long enough to paint it, I’ll have that up this weekend probably.

I’ve stolen another razor. The little pieces of sharp metal my mother uses in her sewing machines. I feel so low about it. Wondering to myself why steal razors when I have a knife all my own? Razors just hurt a little more, that’s why. That’s all.

I want out.

Skull thrown
Against a wooden wall

Nails tap the mirror then-
Shards

Thank you.
Now look away.

These Tears Are Never Enough

Alright. I think I’m finished.

For real this time. I will never stop getting in my own way. Trying is useless; from what I”ve already done, it doesn’t even look like I know how to try and give things a real chance.

Today my mother and I almost got hit by a train. We were in the middle of a railroad crossing when I noticed the red lights were on indicating a train near, but the gates hadn’t fallen soon enough. I told my mother to back up the car, but as I said it another car pulled up behind us, blocking the way. I looked at the right and saw the train moving closer and my next thought was of not getting  my foot stuck in the tracks, because I was set to unbuckle and get out of the car. But my mother told me to hold on and she sped the car forward. Afterward she said “those people behind us are probably saying that was a close call for us…”

There’s no point to this story except to say I should have gotten out of that car and walked face forward into that train. The last two days I can honestly say I’ve never felt more infuriated with people as a whole. The waiting I’ve had to do, the nasty attitudes…I would love to reverse the mistake all life and creation has turned out to be.

I want to get this over with. Thinking about what I’ll miss or who will miss me or who I’ll hurt is not going to save me from failing at life or from causing myself more pain by trying to make it. Survive for what? I am not understood, I will not be missed.

One of these nights I’m going to try. I’ll go as far as I can. And if it’s not good enough, I’ll consider it practice, and I’ll try again. With the medicine all gone from me, I do feel more like my old self again. My old, suicidal, depressed for no reason, self. But this time, no longer waiting to feel better.

It’s pathetic. I keep thinking about it.

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

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

After

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.

Dying Note

 Dying Note

Slow wave and beat
Its given tears of melody
Listening near,
Now I’ve fallen in
The dying note takes me with it

A quiet leave
Consumed whole by its own grief
And we are in the dark,
Where whispers bleed
The heart, the sight–all memory

From light without a plea
Strained along by the echo’s breeze
As we dissolve cold,
One deep inbreathe
At end, in frozen reach

 

This weak poem was where I left off back in March. The poem was written before I made the image, which is inverted from it’s original.

 I seriously thought about it yesterday and said if I’m not writing something, or even attempting to write, even when I’m fresh out of ideas, I should not bother anymore. Nothing else I do is going to keep me here. There’s enough anger over it now, after three months of putting it off my list of priorities, to write in between every empty moment. There are a lot of empty moments now. And there’s always something to say.

Trash

  Only two weeks of this bullshit left and I’m out. Clinicals pretty much sucked this week. There are some nurses that want to get irritated when I can’t give them a fucking immediate answer, as if I’ve been there for ten years or something. I don’t care if they have the more stressful job; I didn’t make you become a damn nurse, and if you don’t like being one, who the hell is stopping you from quiting? They’re no good to anyone with the kind of negativity I left behind today. I have enough of that.

I would not recommend this course to anyone unless they’re ready to deal with feeling like they want to put a bullet through their head. I’m about ready to pick a date and time to jump. Anything would seem better than trying to fit into something you’re just not made for.

There’s nothing I can hold onto. Not one friend stuck around from my past, I can’t connect with anyone new in the present. What good was I ever? No one knows how to help me because I could never bring myself to ask for it. I’m alone in trying to disappear. I’m weaker than I already assumed myself; I don’t believe when others tell me I am smart or that I have talent; It can’t save me or anyone else, for all that it could mean. We all still die. And we all still suffer as we wait in line.

I don’t want to wake up again. I don’t have anything more to give.

Well, I survived

First day of clinicals…. The woman training me was so fast. The entire time I just didn’t want to get in her way, you know? Being a HUC is ridiculous if there’s only one person to do all that work on the unit.

Things were going just fine up until I messed up when answering a call light for a patient needing to use the bathroom. I didn’t have the sense to right down the damn room number to remember who it came from. I could have taken this mistake had the patient just been asking for water or a random question, but the bathroom? How could I screw up something that important?

And so I freaked out and had to leave the unit for a few minutes. Had my instructor not been there watching my every move, I would have left the whole hospital and walked home for all I cared in that moment.

My instructor help calm me down, but she obviously noticed how little mistakes can easily bring tears to my eyes. I know it’s stupid and irrational, but my mind seems to draw negative conclusions at lightning speed. It was an acute sense of embarrassment, uselessness, inadequacy and of being someone undeserving, and was just too much to cope with when I’m already stressed beyond a healthy degree. I wanted to honestly tell her that it’s either I cry or I hurt myself, so which would you fucking prefer? I’ve been ready to quit this course since I started it, and I told her I don’t even care about a job at this point, it’s only about finishing.  

She flatly stated that I’m so hard on myself, then asked me if I take anything and if I see someone for the issues I’m having. I said yes and moved on from it. Now she knows it’s definitely not just shyness; there are a whole lot of other things I’m fighting to manage. Being good academically in this class means nothing if I can’t apply what I’ve learned. I envy the other girls who, while they don’t have the best grades, have the better personality and actually get involved as if they’ve known the people they’re training with their whole life. But I can’t be easy on myself on a daily basis, let alone in a nursing unit where people rely and expect so much from me.   

I went back to the unit and told my trainer that I was sorry for leaving, that she did nothing wrong and gave a lie with “I’ve just had a death in the family…” as an explanation. She was cool about it and knows I’ll be seeing her in two weeks (after our computer training for this hospital). Really though, I shouldn’t be allowed to go back. I don’t feel I belong anywhere except dead anyhow these days.

Today was the first time in a month it seems that I felt as if I really wanted to just hurt. An image of my knife popped in my head as I sat there on the unit finishing out the day stapling papers together. I’m still thinking about it, but for some reason the thought of waiting until after graduation seems sweeter than right now, as bad as it sounds.

I just do not feel good. It’s hard to do anything when I’m not even on my own side, you know? I’m not even on my own side….

I’ll wait to see

I went for the background check today. Paid almost $60; the last of the money I made from the craft show in November.

I’m actually relieved about my appointment with the doctor on Wednesday. I just feel I should be shoved away in a box somewhere. I don’t seem to care about the time here I was given. I don’t want anything. Not a marriage, not kids, I’m not a good worker, and I have no skills. When you want nothing, how strong do you have to be?

 

It’s hard to put together a point here, but one thing is for sure. I cannot have this year go by with nothing having been done. Something will happen. Everyday feels like the end, and as much as it hurts to wait and see about things, I have to. There’s nothing left but my life to lose now, so I’m going to go through the pain and try to be productive for the next six months.

 

 

 

This picture is one I was going to throw away, but instead I decided to paint it since I was bored. It reminds me of a tarot card in a way, black magic or someone sending evil things out into the night. But really, it’s random so it’s whatever anyone wants to make of it.

 

I’m closing out on my poems now, just a few more to edit. The first one below starts out about a particular death sign/symbol I read about in a book I have, of sighting a butterfly at night. The rest stems from that I guess, wanting the end to come, as usual. I worked closely with this one though- compared to the first draft, I’m very glad about how it turned out.

 

For A Sighting

 

Window I stare out, into night

Butter-fly wings I hope to sight

Flickering in moon’s beam light

       Flirting, the faces of my knife.

 

The late hours wafting mystique

Intense silence, I hardly breathe

Engrossed, in wait of memories,

       Daring them to speak,

 

For even one vision to peek, with

My torturous reality, as spread

In flecks of bloody dream, its

       Deluge of pain filled musings.

   

Ghostlike flames, lantern escape

In mind, here at the end phase

Of dark unshaken promises, I’m

       Safe and the utmost convinced.    

  

 

The second one below is one I’ve been working on for some time, but I’ve accepted that I may never capture the moment I’m trying to express as well as I would like. It’s about how I felt when the first therapist I ever had actually examined the first few, tiny scars on my left arm. I remember feeling completely violated (why I never went back to him), and so angry at myself mainly for allowing the conversation to get that far out of hand. I still hate myself for it, but I’ve learned. No one will ever have that much power over how I feel when it comes to anything on the outside again. People will judge anyway, sure, but that’s going to come back at them, not me. Judgment doesn’t erase what’s happened, and I truly don’t have time to even think about it anymore. Why not just be glad that I write more about my thoughts of hurting myself than I act on them. I have a feeling I’ll be back in therapy within the coming month, as I expect to be back on some kind of medication soon. But maybe this new physician will let me slide on going to therapy…that’s wishful thinking probably, but it would be nice…lol.     

 

His Closer Look

 

My answers were

Soaked in a frozen sweat

Of injuries, not innocent; my

Guilty eyes were swelling red; my

Breathless plea for sudden death

 

I’m studied closely from the start

And shiver from my quickened heart

As a filth-like feel derides my scars

When keen suggestions lean too far

 

Then- lost as the loss of a dear secret

Lies continued to pass my lips

Just deaf enough to get me through

My final words most resolute

 

All hopes of wellness fell in doubt

The sickness flared as I walked out

A ruined, angry quake, I felt

Far redrawn into myself