I'm going to kill myself.
I'm not going to slit my wrists.
I won't chase 50 pills with a bottle of booze.
I'm not going to swallow a bullet.
I'm not going to hang myself.
I don't know how it'll happen.
I don't know when the time will come.
This is not a cry for help.
This is a fact I'm certain of.
I'll act out recklessly
I'll push against every boundary I find
I'll treat myself the way I deserve
A useless, old whore who knows her worth
I'll ingest every drug I can get my hands on
I'll relish the numb even more than the high
Maybe one night, I'll accidentally OD
I'll put myself in dangerous situations
I'll meet strangers in motel rooms
I'll wander the streets all night long
I'll walk slowly past perilous places
I'll make sure to look vulnerable
I'll never lock a window or door again
My arched throat is an open invitation
To strangling hands, to hungry blades
I'm already dead inside,
But I'm too scared to finish the job
Too cowardly to end my own miserable life
I'm putting the challenge out there
And we all know, I'm a sure thing
It's gonna happen, sooner or later
My white knight disguised as Death
Death, the lover I've been longing for
I'm here, my love, I've been expecting you
Show me mercy,
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
I can’t flap my wings
I belong in the sea
damp moisture envelops me.
Petrified of pinnacles
heights are my downfall
with grasping hands.
Pry my eyeballs
avoid bridge gratings
shaking from traffic
I’ll slip right through.
Don’t put me on pedestal
might plummet to my end
sadistic thoughts gnawing .
Memories remind and haunt
climbing Washington Monument
could see all the way down
through the open rungs,
spiral staircase of Hell.
Questions resound loudly
panicking my insides
what am I afraid of?
Is it myself?
or am I aghast
that I might tumble
into the jagged rocks
of someone’s mind?
I am terribly afraid of dying alone
And unloved. Never finding that
Someone who when together
We are one whole.
I see the ages creeping up on me,
My beauty fades
The light still shines within
Yes. Alone and unloved
I shall be.
Second Child Syndrome
A second child with an overly bright brother in a small town school so that we always had the same teachers except he had them first. They always did the same projects for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Mother's Day so his would be greeted with true delight and mine, a year later, compared unfavorably. Same thing with assignments, drawings, poems, his brilliant ones first then mine a sad imitation. It jaded me. Made me exceptionally fearful of coming in second or being a poor copy of anyone else.
Out on my own, I purposefully set out to do college assignments in ways no one had ever seen. At work, my creativity stuck in high gear to be if not outstanding, noticeably unique. This trait plagues me yet. Everything a challenge to be twisted in some abnormal way so mine won't be just like something my brother would have done a year before me.
I don't get scared by the little things. At least, that's what I've always told myself. Heights aren't a problem, people ask me to kill bugs, and I'm always relaxed in the dark. What terrifies me, is the idea that none of it will matter-life that is. I'm scared out of my mind that in a few decades I'll pass away, and all that will be left of me are the stories I've shared, the memories others have of me, and a pile of rotting bones. Even then, I could fade from that existence. My friends and family will die, my bones will turn to dust, and any and all records of me could be shoved into a bleak black corner of the internet.
I used to think that immortality could only be achieved through a great historical feat; that if i did something great enough my name would carry through the centuries like Aristotle, or Julius Caesar. But in the grand scheme of things, even they will be forgotten. Humanity as a species has a finite amount of time to exist before we all die. Once we are all gone, any evidence of my existence will be lost forever. All my posterity will be gone; the records and stories I create will be lost; and like my bones everything else will turn to dust. That is what terrifies me. It's not that I will die, or even that i won't be remembered by everyone. But to lose all evidence of your existence, for it to look like you were never alive is the worst fate imaginable. I means that everything I've ever done or will do will be for nothing.
My worst fear is that I won't be needed anymore. That I won't matter to anyone for any reason. I dread having a few "friends" who only want my skills, or who just feel sorry for me and don't actually have a particular interest in my mind or interests.
One of my most vivid nightmares from childhood was coming home one day to find that my family didn't even know me; to them I was a stranger, coming to see the house they were selling, the house I'd grown up in. But they didn't know me, and I woke up crying from the feeling of loneliness, emptiness it gave me.
However unlikely it may seem to some, this fear is always present in my life. It drives me to excel at what I try to do, and fuels at least some of the disappointment I feel if I fall short. Even if I succeed in whatever I'm attempting, I fear that nobody notices, because I'm not important.
Whatever else happens to me, I wish never to be a no one.
I fear the day that I don't come back. That I fall in and can't get out.
I fear finally losing control of my mind, of myself.
It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.
Soon enough, I will dissolve. The already weak bonds holding us all together in my head will deteriorate for good, and there will be chaos. No one personality in control, no way to put on a sane facade.
I guess it's not so much the eventual descent into permanent insanity that scares me, as I've already thought quite a bit about it. My fear is more of becoming visibly insane.
Currently it's all just in my head (or so I've been told) but I fear the day when it all comes out. I fear what I (whatever "I" even is) could and would do if I (which in this case may or may not mean something different than the "I" mentioned previously) lost control.
It started when I was young, four maybe. My life at home wasn't always so perfect, even now it's not. My mom had issues, she still does, and so did her partners. One minute I was what kept her alive, the next I was everything wrong with her life. She couldn't be happy while I was around. As I got older it got worse. I could take more hits, grew more resilient. I let it effect my school life. They could tell. They didn't care. They hated me even more than she did.
Too this day I am still not sure of the exact moment it happened, when even the slightest movement towards me filled my body with terror. Even the slightest nudge. I tried getting over it, forcing myself to hug family and friends, be normal. It made me sick, made me cry. It still does.
It scares me. That I will never get over it, that I'll never be normal, that I can never be close to someone because the mere thought of them touching me terrifies me. I can't stand it.
Back in hell
The house was hell. Violence and always having too many secrets for any child to bear. No one in the house I could trust. I was utterly alone with too much on my mind. It drove me to away and my father faced every ultimatum my mother could throw at him to rescue me. Rescue. The best word is rescue.
My father died two years later. I watched as every organ failed and when he could no longer speak I turned on his favorite show and held his hand. Last summer he left me in the hands of his best friend. She took me when my own mother wouldn't. When I'm alone my thoughts get too deep and I wonder if it's just a dream. If the trauma has sent me into a delusion telling me I'm safe to shield me. Maybe I'm not with my new mother at all.
My greatest fear is waking up back in hell.
I spin around and around, frantically, in a panic, utterly helpless.
She's gone. I can't find her. I don't know who took her. She's just gone.
Was it death? Shadows? Boogeymen?
Before she was born, I longed for death but never found it.
Now that she's here, I long for life.
If something happens to her, how can I live? Will I ever be the same?
Will life be worth living?
My precious daughter, more valuable than platinum and gold.
I can't stand to lose her. I fear it more than death.
There is no pain, no hell worse than this.
There will never be another like her, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood.
And it's my fault. Whether it was or not, really, it was my fault.
I brought her into this world, and failed to protect her.
She trusted me and I let her down.
I don't deserve to live. So I shall lay here and wither, until death comes and takes me too.
And then we can be together, my beloved and I.
Once more, we can dance and play; for all of eternity.
But for now, I shall live my life with her.
Take each day as it is; a true gift from the universe.
A temporary reprieve until we must inevitably be parted by death.
And I will love her, fearlessly, until that day.