Hope without Bandages

(Trigger Warning)

I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar affective disorder.

This was written when I relapsed some time ago. I thought I’d share.

I’m proud to say I’m officially done with this part of my life. I will never need to break disposable razors for the blades. I don’t miss having to hide my body and I don’t miss the scars and I don’t miss the way it calmed me.  I really want everyone to know that cutting is something that will become an addiction once you start. At least that was my experience and I don’t wish it upon anyone.  I remember sitting on the bathroom floor the day I cut myself too deep and it really had me questioning what the fuck I was doing. Why harm yourself when everyone else tries to harm you too? This world is full of people who want to hurt you and why hurt yourself even more? I don’t miss cutting myself. I remember when I did though. Self – harm is still an issue and it starts at a young age. People don’t stop cutting until they scare themselves by cutting too deep. Well, I can’t say that for a fact but that’s the way it happened for me.

“Each cut, each scar, each burn, a different mood or time. I told him what the first one was, told him where the second one came from. I remembered them all. And for the first time in my life I felt beautiful. Finally part of the earth. I touched the soil and he loved me back.” – Secretary


Self- hatred is so comfortable to me and it has never gone away.

I’ve found hope in bood and razor blades

I’ve found beauty in cuts and bandages

Bleeding has been the easiest part of life

Bruises on my heart can show for it

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Cold

The amber lights made me feel calm

I never felt so indifferent

I never felt so exhausted

Cold rooms and cold stares

Cold hearts and cold lives

 

Please don’t touch me

I think if you do I’ll break

I want to break these walls

That looked just like a prison

Not a home –

For people with confused minds and lives

Half

I’ve only felt half of myself,

When I would be held by a boy who hid his intentions in his eyes.

Only half of himself

Only half of myself

Only have of myself never considered,

That a man was my only choice.

 

Years have passed and I’m 75% of myself

Only learning that I don’t need a person

To be whole

I’ve been kissed by a lost girl

Who hid behind botched poetry

And a false smile

I’m 85%

I’m still learning

100% is unrealistic

Perfection is a myth

Something Visceral

It seems that in the spring

My lungs are filled with fresh air

My mind is clearer than the years before

 

Winter is bitter and unkind

Seasonal depression lingers

At the back of my mind

Is there something blooming?

Something visceral and deafening

 

I’ve never paid attention to the seasons

Besides the falling of the autumn leaves

The spring is so peaceful and calming

Which has bypassed me for years

This spring I am without scars or regrets

 

I am thankful

Mistakes

I don’t know how I feel about this – I haven’t written anything I really liked in a while. Thought I’d post though so I can try to stay consistent with my blog posts.  Thanks for reading!


And if I’ve learned from my mistakes

I’d swallow my words

Cut them into little pieces

No more written notes, poems, or excessive thoughts

And If I’ve learned from my mistakes

My chest won’t tighten

And I won’t have to fight

These fucking mistakes