Hurts Like Scabs (4.17.17)

You walk into a pitch dark room,
The only light from the open door you came through.
The stale scent of stagnant water hits you first,
Then a tang, like metal, sinks inside your nostrils.
The air is tangible and cold, still it is too dark for you to see.
You recognize the ground is concrete
At the same time you realize you've lost your shoes.
The chill sets deeper in your bones,
You notice you're without your clothes
Completely exposed to this endless dark room.
Through the 'you' shaped shadow you see a pile
Dead center in the room.
Every cell screams for you to stand still.
The grit from the floor digs into the souls of your feet,
Still you push forward into the shadows.
With a creak and a snap, the door closes behind you,
As you knew it would.
So there you stand in the pitch,
Shade coalesces into bonds,
The already cloying air clots further,
You can feel it like memory foam sandwiching you still.
Nakedness, cold fear, and alone.
Wetness rolls down the side of the hollow of your cheek
You're crying-
You didn't even know.

Back Ally Bar Fight with Your Heart (04.01.17)

Welcome back to the dirt.
Hands, rotting and crumbling,
Something not quite dead.
Little shambling thing,
Created just to move.

Can you still feel the breath leave your lungs?
How did you end up here?
Black, blue, bloodied.
By some unknowable force.
Did you tell anyone you were wandering alone?

Smart girls know to only walk on well lit streets.
You weren't a smart girl, were you?
Treading where others refused to go,
Running through where trouble resides.
And now you'll never be found.

You died gasping,
Grasping for someones hand.
No one came.
Perhaps, by chance,
Some kind rain will come
And wash you all away.

Let's get one thing straight (Think Thoughts.)

My brain is not my friend.
On that note neither is my body.
Both of these offending objects try and kill me on multiple occasions. Normally that processes is attempted like 40 times in the same day. Like today, I've been working my tail off for an 8 hour shift, and I've been doing my best to keep in contact with friends. My brain however, doesn't care. It looks me in the soul and says,
"You're not working hard enough, I wonder if you worked harder people might actually want to spend time with you."

What the hell?
NO!

Listen, I know what that voice is, it's Anxiety or Depression. Some kind of chemical changing my vibe from good to gross in a matter of seconds. No one thinks I'm not working hard, and people love me!
But that doesn't stop the voice.

So, why write this?
Why post yet another homage to my messed up connections?

You might just be thinking the same thing. You might feel useless and hopeless, like no one in the world likes you. Don't believe the hype, you are so wonderful! You're the most wonderful you in the world! The only you.
So don't listen to your bastard track.
You go be the most wonderful you that you can manage.

Don't Panic. Full Stop. (9.7.16)

Don’t Panic.
A mantra well spread
Throughout the the two lobes of my head
Like Jam and PB on bread.
Don’t Panic
A phrase repeat,
Words, simple words,
That turn brave men to meat.
No, Don’t Panic.
There is so much left to do
Feel the heat course through you,
Oh of course this would happen too.
Panic,
Yes Panic.
Sets in quick and sick
Can’t respond to a text
Too nervous to stand or sit.
I’m taking shallow breaths through my nose
Panic spread from head to toe.
Panic. Don’t Panic.
Panic.
Oh No.

Aching. (6.14.16)

There is a bone deep tiredness,
I am washed in.
Bathed in emotions.

A pain so vibrant in its'
Rainbow hue.
People crying.

Tears like acid,
Burns the skin of a nation.
A familiar ache.

Promise it will never happen again,

As we count our dead.

As we consoul the living.

Everything is new.

Anger dries my throat. Tears well in my eyes.

I ball up my fists, crushing them against my sides.

A bruise will soon form where the two forces meet.

Words from a broken home knock me off my feet.

My mouth is taut, a line so thin, one would think it would snap.

I inhale once, and let out a heavy sigh that sounds more like a gasp.

The muscles in my hands tense once more as tears dry in my eyes.

Palms now gone flat against purple-green thighs.

All that remains is a bitter after taste.

My cheeks burn where tears rolled their stinging chase.

I breath deep, and let it all go again.

-H

Seek Medical Attention.

I have a habit.
A very sever habit of staying up for days at a time, and allowing exhaustion to crash over me like a wave. I will stay up for 20 hours and sleep for 2, then repeat until the weekend. Then, and only then, will I crash for 16-24 hours.
I never figured out why I did this, but it's been happening since I was a very little girl. When I was six, I would lay in bed until midnight, then I would creep into my grandpa's lap and watch some R rated movie. I would watch stories of women seeking revenge. I would watch stories of warlords reigning over their territory.
As I got older, the habit grew. With the dawn of the Internet, I used my sleepless nights to learn. Mostly words, sometimes different ideas. I attempted to teach myself other languages and got pretty far in it too. I would watch different stories. Ones of love and heroic sacrifice.
Now I am older still. I sleep less frequently than I did before, I chalk it up to safety. I never feel safe enough to sleep. I don't live in an environment where I feel it's okay to shut down, so I don't until I push myself to the shore of exhaustion.
I want to sleep. Go to bed at eleven, wake up at seven and repeat the process.
But then I feel like I would miss the night and all its charms. The way silence sounds at 3AM. The way hysterical laughter feels after 24+ hours without sleep. I know it isn't good to force yourself into mini comas, but what else could I possibly do.
-H

Outstanding Child, Average Adult.

There is an old saying about visualization, that I can't quite remember but, it goes something like "See the things you want, have the things you see." or something.
I have been repeating the same mantra for the last three weeks to maintain the last stretches of my sanity.
"Two jobs, rent, college."
That is my dream. To work two shitty retail jobs, to be able to make my exorbitant Southern California rent, to go to a shitty pre college.
My dreams used to include changing the world, breeding a dinosaur super army so I could become queen of Atlantis, becoming the first paleontologist to discover something cooler than a t-rex (though apatosaurus was always my personal favorite.)
When did my dreams become so little and mundane.
"Yeah, one day I'd like to be able to work one job to be able to afford rent."
"Totally understandable, I dream of one day being able to sleep without fear of a dick being drawn on my face."

I live in a house of angry people, it's made me a really volatile person. I get sad over very small things, because I'm used to molehill mountains. I have a visible flinch when someone raises their voice over the octave of excitement. I don't actually know what it would be like to be able to live without the constant fear of my family walking into my room, without any care to my privacy, and screaming at me.
I've been doing a sort of experiment, whenever someone I'm related to talks to me, I see what they'll say. It's been pretty easy to pattern out so far;
Mother: "Can you take out the trash?"
Grandma: "You missed something."
Grandpa: *Something slightly patronizing, meant in good humor but gets on my nerves anyhow*

I certainly have more relatives I live with, but those are the stand outs.

I'm really sad. Like, truly in my soul, kind of sad. I used to have such outstanding dreams, and such an indomitable spirit when it came to the future. Now I just feel like I'm running on autopilot.
-H

3:30AM, The Bastard.

Panic seizes my body. As I tremble in unconceivable fear, I move to my altar. I pull out salt and quartz and everything I've ever heard helps with anxiety and I top it with a pretty shell. My incantation is desperate and simple. A prayer to whatever heaven will hear me.
"Let this go away, allow me to be calm."
It's three AM and I cannot sleep.
I hear little noises, the air kicking on or a bag blowing over because of the fan. Each sound reverberates and creates a new shockwave of panic and fear. I attempted to drown this out with nature sounds and other music, but the terror just grows. I dig deep to steel myself. I know nothing is going to hurt me, but the silence is unbearable.
I text a friend, desperate for a response. Anything to keep me busy until the sleep aid kicks in.
There is no sound from my phone.
I'm so damn scared, I hardly know what to do with myself.
-H.