the poems from the heart.

hurt ★

TW : suicide, mental health

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i think i knew it was getting bad again when i couldn't get out of bed, when it became the hardest thing to do in a day.

the clock tic, tic, ticking, on my desk, the only noise to be heard other than labored breathing, breath in, breath out. i tell myself, afraid i could forget to if i didn't.

and i think i knew it was getting bad again when i could barely eat, when i couldn't brush my teeth, when it was a chore to shower and take care of myself, when the bath water i'd sit in would swish with any slight movement, and get cold after repetitive minutes of just sitting.

and when i realized it was getting bad again i was far past the point where i could reach out. when id look at my scars and not see something i've overcome, but something that made me feel weak.

it was getting bad when intrusive thoughts grew more inside my mind until i finally started to blow up, bottling up my genuine emotion until i couldn't take it anymore. i hated everyone. it hurt to be anywhere.

i was a old bridge, cracking each time something else would go wrong, waiting to snap from the pressure.

and i think i knew when it was getting bad again when all i did was sleep, when i was hiding away and not coming out of my room. trash piled up and mess everywhere, anytime you'd take a step, crunch, crinkle, squish.

and i think i could tell it was getting bad again when thoughts of suicide we're always on my mind. when i felt it would all be better if i was dead.

and we all knew it was getting bad again when i finally tried, when i finally decided that everyone was so sick of me, that i didn't deserve to be on the same earth as them.

and i think that made some people realize how easily you can mask a decline in mental health, how you can push through, but not be there still. you can be a shell of who you once were.