Contemplating (a break)

It’s hard to say it, 

Let alone scream it from the tops of your lungs —

I was assaulted!

Not even able to say the type of assault, 

You sit silently, 

Trying to catch the sight of someone who makes you out.  

Their eyes tell you they don’t believe you, 

Faster than the words coming out of their mouths. 

You clinch down harder on your tears, 

To keep them from showing just how you haven’t dealt, 

Just hardened the shell.  

Those same eyes glossing over without a blink - - wrenching fingers and pulled nails - - parts of hair in one hand - - and blood between teeth and lips. 

That’s how you deal. 

Until you just can’t. 

///////::——

Contemplating staying longer than I’d like utterly destroys me. 

I’m finding it more difficult to find ways other than excessively working out and neglecting food, to distract me from the inevitable. 

That one day I won’t be able to hold off on going through with my plan.  

That the date I’ve pushed back a few times I’ll push closer. 

And feel the breeze one last time as I choose me over them.  

The staying is destroying me, and I am trying to overcome this situation. 

What’s better: painfully living while waiting for the end? 

Or ending the pain just fast enough to feel as though you’ve lived? 

Quick change

I smiled yesterday.
Laughed, talked, joked around,
was happy.
And then I tried to go to sleep, but heard you.
I smelled you.
This awful, putrid, and manly stench.
I couldn't get rid of it.
And I tried.

I tried to hold my breath,
but my tears kept making me gasp for air.
I tried to cover my mouth,
but panic only echoed through my fingers.
Yesterday I was happy.
Now, I can't sleep.

Emotionless Instruction Needed

Disclaimer **The following post may be triggering for some people**


I sat there, on that traction table, legs propped, staring at the plastered ceiling, the strewn curtain, the fire sprinkler, and the bright white staggered lights. I stared until that curtain began to close from behind. Those same lights now only one bulb, shadowing over my body.

And then my body slowly slid down onto the table -- fixated at the sounds of my increasing heart, drowning out the breaths I was trying to take.

Relax . . . that's what you'll need to do, so that this goes well, she said. Or was it him, telling me from before? Relax.

All I can hear is pounding. Is it my head? My heart? Or my lungs, as I try and scream? Are the sounds producing anything recognizable?

Just relax, is all I hear. I tighten up, as I am told to just relax. Was I too relaxed when I drank? Too relaxed when I partied with a crowd of unknowns? Or too relaxed, as I lied down on a couch, waiting to sleep off my night, waking up to find so many things missing?

I can't seem to recall much, but feeling. And whose feeling is this? Whose feeling did this? Two shadows, standing, and lying beside me. Splayed in a half couch, half floor position, I see them. But where am I? Was I too relaxed to move? To roll off the couch, and walk away?

And why won't this screaming stop? Where were you when I needed to scream, as I felt everything important being ripped from me? Where was that loud, beating heart? Where were the words, that blared over, just relax?

Where did it all go? My scream -- my voice -- my laugh -- my security? And why had I not held closer? Relax, echoes, but it doesn't sound like me.

"The Shame"

Sitting here, listening to Alex Cornish's "The Shame" and trying to figure out why with all of my upbeat energy, I always seem to fall into another dimension of numbness . . . Today should have been a great day, where everything had been taken care of  -- I would be relaxed and ready for tomorrow's big day.  But somehow things didn't go according to plan -- My plan.  And even now, I seem to have found myself changing the positive habits, for the old vices that use to keep me complacent.  In that moment where you don't want to smile, laugh . . . You just want to SCREAM, into a pillow, and feel like you're okay.

Tomorrow may be the big day, however I've had to make many decisions on what not to do and as much as it hurts, I cannot have the happiness that I really want.  I just need to settle on what could possibly turn into a happy moment -- Even if it's by isolating my subconscious and racing until the end.

I'm slowing down, running from the truth -- I can't really change this.  I can't really change me.  And why should I continue to try and force the inevitable? This just has to be the way;  My way.

~Kyra C.