A friend like me

A/N for some odd reason this posted as a blank page. So lets see if we can try this again.

I wanted to hurt you
So I wouldn’t be alone
Wanted to make you hate
So I wouldn’t do it on my own
I ignored all the signs
That said you where near your end
In my rush to find a like minded friend
I destroyed what made you good
I just wanted someone beside me
Who would suffer as I did
I didn’t see it as a problem
I felt that, overtime, our pain would solve them
I didn’t see you gasp for help
Was to busy cutting you like everyone else
As you lay bleeding in my image
I felt that we could win this
What a terrible friend was I
To live you alone to die
I just wanter you to suffer
Wanted you like no other
But I never wanted to be alone

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A letter

Dear Father,

I never really liked my name. As a kid I hated how it meant that I was your child. I felt that the title didn’t explain all that I was in life. Jessica, child of Jesse, a common nobody that not even her father could bring himself to love. As a child I convinced myself that the best thing to do is hate before others had the chance to hate me. I remember the few times of happiness I felt I would instantly try and force it down. I didn’t deserve happiness.

When I was 10 I decided I would give myself 10 more years of life before I killed myself. I decided this after you had yelled at me for one reason or another. I remember holding a mini funeral for myself…my little self.

I killed the part of me that made me Jessica.

Jessica was unloved and unwanted. I thought this would make life easier.

But then came the voices…and the shadows.

I hated being in small spaces. I was fine with animals lurking about but small places like bathroom and closets gave me nightmares. I could feel people staring at me. I could hear people whispering. They wanted to hurt me. They convinced me that you wanted to do the same. I couldn’t trust anyone.

Killing myself did not go as planned but it was to late to go back now.

After while the shadow became that of a little girl. Jessica had came seekimg her revenge. It got to the point where being alone was the only way to keep her at bay. I hating sleeping because she was always there. I had nightmares all the time. I would wake up crying and had to sneak into my sister bed just so I could sleep. She wasnt a huge fan of that so I would often sleep under her bed. People didn’t crawl on me or grab me when I was under her bed. During storms I would sleep under the window. It probably wasn’t the safest places but no one hurt me when it rained but they screamed, oh god did they scream so loud.

When my sister was gone I just didn’t sleep. I begin to fear the dark so stayed up crying or writing or reading. Hurting myself whenever sleep got to close.

I spent my days sleeping or reading because she couldn’t reach me during the day time. She wouldn’t dare… The consequences of my fears made it so people hated me anyways. I couldn’t prove to others that the voices where there. No one else saw the shadows.

After awhile the whispers stopped. They didn’t go away completely but they did stop.

Father, I grew up believing you hated me. This was probably because I hated myself. Even now I do not understand how you can even talk to someome as damaged as me.

I look at my daughter and I pray to whatever god is listening that she doesn’t turn out like me.

As I have aged I no longer fear the dark. Small places comfort me, especially if there is a furbaby to keep me company.

I haven’t told anyone about the voices. No one important anyways. Over the years I have actually denied them being there. But they are here. No longer yelling or whispering but I can feel them judging me. I know what it means to see or hear things.

Dear Father

I really don’t know what to do anymore. I guess I could tell you that I am fucked up but you already know it.

At least, that is what she is telling me.

I stopped laughing

I am not exactly sure when laughter started to bother me. When I figured a group of people experincing joy made me so sad. All I know that as times change I begin to look at laughter as a bad thing. Their happy smiles meant something was wrong with me. Doesn’t matter that they had been doing it before I even showed up, it was always at my expense.

I begin to hate the sound of people having fun. I begin to see their whispers as reasons to stay indoors. When a friend told a joke it was always about me, even when it wasn’t.

I am not an attractive person. I am not smart, or brave, or funny, or cool. I am everything a person hate. I am someone the world could make fun on for one reason or another.

I can not stand when strangers laugh around me. I always feel as though they are judging me. I fight the urge to run and hide whenever someone close by lets out a giggle. A smirk turns my stomach and makes me die inside.

I do better when I am alone or with my child. She can still hurt me with her giggles but I know that they are not always at my expense. I can be myself with her and she won’t judge me…much.

I hate being myself around others. If I show them someone fake then they can’t really hate me. Sadly, I do not really know the real me. I have no idea who I am so after awhile that doesn’t work either.

I guess it is because I hate myself so much I don’t want to get to know myself.

So I put in different personalities like clothing. There are so many layers that I don’t dare go looking for the core. I think it is because I am afraid of what I will find.

I despise when people laugh at me…or near me. I know it is because I have fucked up in some way.

Once I kissed

I don’t like kissing

It’s to intimate

To close

To

Gross

Everything about

Leaves me in hives

Eyes closed

Mouth opened wide

Nope

Sorry

I would rather die

But

Apart of me

A small part of me

Wishes it wasn’t that way

Kisses

Are not a curse

Used to hurt

To force

Love and commit

Meant to secure

To reward

Blushing brides and valued whores

Kissing isn’t meant

To be painful

A reminder of bad times

A punishment for false crimes

I don’t like kissing

To intimate

To close

To

Gross

To much of

A false show of commit

Meant to reward

At least

That is what they tell good little girls

Permission

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.

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.