To be honest, I want to cut. I'm trying to sleep and all I can think about is the emptiness in my chest. I want to talk to him. I want more than background noise. I want to Skype with him so I can fall asleep and not have my nightmares. But all I can do is want to take my pencil sharpener apart and slit my wrist. I want to see blood. I want to know I'm alive. I want to fucking feel something!
But I can't. I can't do that. I can't cut. I can't. Because my mom would get mad at me. And I know I'd end up screaming "Mommy, help." and sobbing while I tell her I don't know why over and over and over until it turns into simply sobs. I want to get rid of the pain I'm feeling because cutting seems so much softer than this. So much nicer and comforting and understanding. But it's not. It can't be. All it is a fucking blade. Cold, sharp, crisp metal against my skin. Stinging til I lift up and let myself bleed.
But how do I know if I have blood. If I have a pulse. If it's not just a fake heart beat. If I actually exist. Because I've shut down since he left. And I need him right now. I need him to yell at me not to cut. That it's not worth the scars. That it'll pass. And that I need to focus on him.
But he's not here and if I go to my mom's room she's just going to be mad at me. She'll make me go to school tomorrow but I don't know if I can take it.
Tomorrow we have a field trip in my science class. Which is first period. One of my two classes with him. And he wont be there. And I'll just blame myself until I have a panic attack at school. But school gives me a purpose and if I don't go, I'm simply proving to myself that I can't be my own person.
But it's my fault, right? Because I keep wishing I was in the hospital? Because I loved it there? Because I felt safe there? Because I liked the routine? And the staff were nice? And the other patients were nice? And one of the guys was cute?
But... I didn't trust my doctors. I didn't like that the nurse who came in during my panic attack didn't comfort me. She told me to suck it up. I needed a hug and there isn't supposed to be physical contact. And that's what I needed. I needed a hug.
YOU ARE READING
to be honest
Poetryto be honest is a book based on my life, what is going on, how my mind works, how I'm feeling, and basically all of the in between. Some areas may be made-up, or simply not explained enough to be understood.
