Recovery

Not My Failures

I'm not the blood that spilled over the razor blade at 9pm because all I wanted was to be able to feel something other than the pain inside. Because I just wanted to control the pain you gave me when you walked away.

I'm not the pills I took at 3am because all I wanted to do was die. I took a lot that day.

I'm not the screams I muffled into my pillow at 1am because the boy I loved broke my heart.

I'm not the vodka at 5am because I wanted to forget the way you looked at me.

I'm not the food I threw up the day before because all I wanted was to weigh nothing. I wanted to look like those girls you smiled at in the hallways.

I'm not the bruises I inflicted on my skin at 2am when I was sad and felt the need to destroy myself bit by bit.

I'm not the fake smiles I made when everything was falling apart.

I'm not the cigarettes I inhaled to stop my already deceased heart. We're all going to die anyway.

I'm not my failures. And neither are you.