Blank

Who am I, do I matter, do I exist?

Most days it doesn’t feel like it.

Most days I don’t feel like a person at all.

Just a machine, rolling through the months on autopilot.

I don’t understand how it got this way.

A little girl with big eyes and big dreams wouldn’t recognize herself with scarred wrists and venomous voices spitting in her head, end it. End it.

That will make them see, that will make them know you are real, you exist. If you’re no longer here at all.

I’ve imagines my death many times, I’ve watched blood spill and wondered just how much pressure it would take to make it permanent.

It’s ironic, isn’t it?

That people only realize your presence once your gone.

I think all the pain and heartbreak bleeds together and it’s hard to tell the difference between love and hate.

I think if I could go back and do it again I’d still have these marks, but maybe if I’d stayed away from a few people they wouldn’t be as deep.

I don’t know what I need to heal.

I’ve tried but I always bring these scars with me everywhere I go.

I read a saying once, don’t bleed on those who haven’t cut you, but what about the ones that warped my mind into inflicting the cuts on myself, how am I to know the difference when they all smile the same. How can I tell who cut me and who didn’t when the razor is in my hand and I can’t think straight.

How do you know the intentions that lurk behind promises and gifts and love bombing.

How do you separate manipulation and gaslighting from a genuine actions of love.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever known real love at all.

I see the demon that tormented me in all of their faces, I see the broken pieces of my heart that I so carefully pieced back together.

Sometimes I think I may have missed a piece or two, that he may have kept it or hidden it away where I’d never look.

He was good at things like that, hiding, lying, hurting me when I wasn’t looking.

I look in the mirror and I don’t like the hint of a smirk I see through my despair, it likes the pain, it knows it’s winning.

It’s a darkness I know lives inside me, that loves to come out and play.

I try to keep it down but it doesn’t stay, sometimes I see myself doing things I can’t control, that I can’t stop.

All I can do now is pray.

Maybe I’m not attracted to evil, maybe it’s attracted to me, to the likeness it sees.

It’s hard to tell really, what’s good, what’s bad, what falls in the grey area in between.

I don’t know what to do with all this but keep moving forward until I can’t anymore.

To keep trying to win a battle inside me and heal at the same time.

To be good and gracious, but not too good and gracious.

My mind is my gift and yet it’s my prison.

The brightest lights have the scariest darkness.

It’s a balance, I’ve been through this before.

Yet here I am asking the same questions, never learning.

A hand around my throat and it’s sore.

I don’t know what will happen next, I have no idea what I’ll do.

All I know is this battle is getting harder every day and although no one can help me I’m getting tired of doing it alone.

Until next time.