Sincerely October

You will make it through this night

Poems written on a hard night.

A talk
I want it so badly, I want it more than I want anything. I could control myself this time. No one would have to know.

How many times have you said that? How many times have you made promises to yourself only for them to be broken?

I can't survive without them. I want it more than I want anything.

Is that true? How many days have you spent trying to put distance between yourself and the drugs?

It's inevitable, isn't it?

You've made it this far, haven't you?

What else is there?

There's so much more out there for you.

I could control it this time, this time would be different.

It wouldn't be. It never is.

Hollow
I stare at my ceiling and try to find words for this empty feeling.
I feel hollow, I can laugh with you but when I go to bed at night I am greeted by a familiar ache in my stomach.
I feel as if I have lost a passion that I once had, a fire no longer burns in my stomach, now I do things to pass the time. What's next on my to-do list? How many hours until it's over?
It's not deafening, my depressive state is not pushing me into silence, but the dull pain wears at me.

May 12th
It's strange to know that last year on this night I was breaking.
I planned to end my life. I sat in the darkness of my room and felt tears run down my cheeks. I finally admitted to myself that what had happened was real, it wasn't a dream like I always wanted it to be.
I thought it was the end for me, there was nothing left and I knew it.
I had reached the final chapter, and the ending was not a happy one.
As much as it aches, I made it. I lived. I told my story, I freed myself from his touch.
I wish I could go back to that little girl and tell her about this.
You lived! It's over now. Angeline you made it!

I think that life is beautiful
It's all true. I feel a hollowness in my chest that never seems to do anything but linger. I have the sense that this is the happiest I've ever been.
My pain doesn't take away the joy of my life and the progress I have made.
Life is painful but with that pain comes beauty.
With burning tears comes laughter so deep you can't contain it. With an ache comes a passion and a fire.
I hurt a lot more in my past than I do now. I see a life and a future for myself and for a long time I saw nothing but an early grave.

Writing
Writing has always been a hand to hold.
In my first poems I thought it would be like everything else was, enjoyable but fleeting, I figured it would be another project I'd soon abandon, but it had grown into one of my favorite parts of my life.
The colors of spring and winter captured my teenage years, it captured the thoughts we all have and the questions we all ask, it represented me finding my way in the world and becoming myself.
Letters from sixteen was written during my little dark age, many chapters written with glazed eyes. Letters from sixteen were written when my addiction nearly defined me and my past haunted me.
Sunday in bloom was supposed to be a way to start over, but it ended up being a set of recollections about a heart that aches.
Sincerely October was written in a period of true growth, it was written in steps to freedom from my addiction and my past.
It has captured the many different lives that I have lived.