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CW:Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, depression and parenting.

My daughter has never really experienced death. The only way I could explain things to her is that when people die they change. Thier bodies break down and they become other. Tress, grass, flowers, but not just plants.

This hurt her of course. She is only four yet I needed to explain why I cried when I held her grandmothers photo. Sure she wasn’t blood but she meant so much to me.

My daughter has little memory of her. Try as I might she has now forgotten her.

There are days I cry cause I know she is disappointed in me.

I explained to my little one that grandma is a flower. A beautiful Daisy just like her. One day I will be a flower as well. I want to be a lily or lavender. Those are among mt favorites.

I get sad a lot. Some days I want to be a flower as soon as possible but others I do not mind the wait. Last night was horrible. I cried a lot as I held my daughter and told her I wished I could be a flower. She told me that she didnt want me to leave. That being a flower wasn’t a good thing.

She denied my request to leave.

I sent my daughter to bed then promptly self mutilated to stop the pain. I learned long ago that I am a terrible person but I love my daughter with all my soul. Instead of cutting like I wanted to, I held a blade against my arm and pressed down. It never broke past the first two layers. I figured it would be enough to ground me but it wasn’t.

So I heated the blade and tried it that way. This time it worked. The pain was glorious and I found instant relief.

But

I messaged a suicide chatline anyways. The burning faded way to quickly. I had no desire to die but I wanted to hurt. I wanted to be in control of the pain. To channel it to a more manageable location.

I will not lie and say that this was bot a mistake, cause it was. So many things could have gone wrong. In that moment I needed it but I could have done something else.

I know this now.

But it doesn’t take away from the desire to want to do it again.

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Pretty hurt

I think about death a lot. I think about how beautiful it would be once it all ended. I am to weak to do what needs to be done though. So many conditions would need to met. I am so close though, so close to being free. I am already alone. I am a burden to everyone. My daughter needs a better mother. I am such a shitty friend.

I like hate. It aids in the process. One of these days I will be free.

I told my daughter I wanted to be a flower. They are fragile but powerful. I hope she will be ok when I am gone.

Just need that final push.

That one special thing to make it all ok.

Voices leave no choice

Choices
By Zoha Lixue

I have waking nightmares.
Voices in my head
People wondering why I am not already dead
They ask me as a favor
To give up before I am able
I can give them all my excuses
But we all know it will be useless
I wasn’t made for this
And they know it
I ignore them
These horrendous voices
I pretend that they aren’t there
Impression in the wind
Hopefully one day they will end
In my head knowing they will one day win.

Impressions

I do not hear voices I hear impressions. Emotions without words. I can feel it all bubbling behind my eyes. I don’t see figures but I get the sense that someone is watching me. I can feel them follow me. I can there eyes and every blink they make is registered in my mind.

But no

I do not see or hear people. I never have but how do I explain what I do go through. How do I tell people about my pain? They will judge me harshly and think I am lying. They will take away my daughter and tell me that I am unfit to be her mother. How do I show them that she is the only person in this world I care for. That even as I am fading she is thriving. I give all my enegery to her. Yes, I am dying. Not in the way others may think but in a way that says my body is deteriorating along with my mind. The illness I suffer from is in my head…not in a way that makes it unreal but in a way that shows that it is unseen. I am dying slowly and she is the only thread keeping me intacted. Without her I will die all the sooner.

But how do I ask for help without the world trying to kill me faster?

Distrust

Distrust
By Zoha Lixue

I wanted Jesus to save me
Needed to feel Gods love
Wrapped around me fully
I needed to know in him I could trust
But then I was discarded without a hint of remorse
It was all my fault you see
To young to fight back
Yet old enough to bleed
Taken in a shady place
Beside some holy trees
Right where God wanted me
Torn up knees and a bloody dress
This is where his holiness wanted me best
I was told to pray
That in time
All would be ok
Again I was broken
Again betrayed
Yet I was suppose to forgive and forget
Focus on better days
Maybe it was because I was wicked
Maybe it was because I sinned
Is that why this man was let in?
Did I deserve to be torn
Ripped by someone so loved
Was I so disgusting that I needed to be dirtied up?
I prayed to God daily
And asked him for help
Never gave up on faith
Even faith had given up
Just dusted my knees once he was done
Smiled brightly with my bloody dress
And promptly walked away.
At least…that is the story I will like to tell
I rather not tell the one where I am buring in hell
Every day is a struggle
Every day is war
Every day I am reminded that I was once forced to be a whore
By the grace of God I was tainted
Wanted nevermore
Yet I will pretend I am alright
Cause telling the truth is worse than a lie.

I can see her

I can see her body floating as I close my eyes. I can see her hurting in every way imaginable as I stand by unable to do a thing. Sometimes I am dying and sometimes I am not. Either way I am always out of reach. I put my hand towards her, grasping, for just a touch. But I never make it, not in time anyways. I watch the light fade from her eyes. I watch as her beautiful smile twist into a look of pain.

This is my everyday nightmare.

As I close my eyes I see her dying. I see her suffering in unimaginable ways. I can’t do anything but watch. Either dead or alive I am always reaching for her.

This is my everyday. When I try to talk to people about it they just call me paranoid or don’t understand.

I can’t sleep unless she is beside me but there are days when that makes it worse. I take every pill the doctor gives me. Say my prayers before bed. Yet nothing is working.

I can see her hurting and I can’t make it stop.

Every day my daughter dies and I know it is all my fault.

In sickness and in health

Warning :self harm, suicidal ideation, bulimia, anorexia, mental disorders.

I got sick today. Like really sick.

And I know what you are thinking, why the hell did I just tell you about my five min date with the butt throne.

Well my dear people I am telling you this because it made me feel good.

Yes as I sat there puking my guts out all I could think of was

‘This isn’t so bad at all. A few months of this and I can finally be pretty’

Even know I sit here trying to make more come up because I want to lose this weight. I want to be skinny because to me that equals beauty. Now I do not hold this standard to everyone. People can be beautiful no matter what their size may be but I can’t. I will never be beautiful. I will never be someone who people want to give seconds looks. I am barely someone they want to see at the corner of their eye.

Not to say I believe me to be disgusting but I do find myself to be distasteful…borderline disgusting.

I hate myself so much that for a mins while getting sick I wanted to keep doing it. I wanted it all to go away. I kept thinking about all the disgusting foods I can shove down my throat just to have a reason to puke.

So I can be skinny

So I can be beautiful.

I will like to make a point to say that I also have the flu or a cold..whatever sickness this is I have it.

So I did not set out for today to puke up my delicious chicken tortilla soup with extra sour cream combined with a to die foe root beer float. I would have actually liked to have been able to digest that, thank you very much.

But once it happened, I felt relief. I felt alive.

This reminded me of something though. It reminded me of my addiction to cutting.

Both of these cause me great pain but in the end they bring me the greatest pleasure.

Through the pain I know that I am alive. I feel powerful. I feel beautiful. I feel as though I can finally see the light. Do you know how addicting it can be to have all that when your normal is constant darkness and paranoia. To finally have some clarity.

I can see the colors!

All the pretty pretty colors.

Sadly,

I know how destructive this can be. I know what it looks like for someone to starve themselves to lose weight. I know what it looks like for someone to accidently kill themselves.

I know the end result of my addiction.

So I don’t follow through with my temptations. No matter how much my mind tells me that I need to.

Instead I wait with anticipation for the next I cut or burn my skin by accident. I await that moment when I can spend hours in the bathroom due to some illness.

I no longer inflict these wounds on myself.

Instead I wait for someone else to do it for me.

All praise mother Gaia and karma.

May they serve me the pain I need to stay alive.