i remember to forget
it is so hard to forget them. they are carved into my brain with a steak knife i often want to stab into my lower arm—being classified as an emergency, placing my belongings in trash bags, removing the strings from my sweatshirts, getting a bracelet slapped on my wrist, undressing so the nurses could poke and prod my flab to check for cuts from self-harm, sleeping on a bed in the lobby, waking up to white walls and a kid yelling and a kid screaming and a kid crying but that kid was me, lining up for my medicine and being instructed not to to hide it beneath my tongue, speaking to the doctors, lying to the doctors, watching rudy twice because it was so goddamn inspirational, thank you hansel, attending group therapy, speaking the same word over and over, breaking it down and down and down, suicidal suicide suicidal so i belong here suicidal but i didn't have the guts suicidal but i don't belong here suicidal two years later and no i don't know if it'll ever go away
so i write these bullshit poems about the people i met and wish i'd befriended in better circumstances because i like to think it helps me cope. it probably doesn't but that's my hope. i pretend they had this profound effect on my life when in reality we were all just transitions for one another, ships passing in the night but i pretend they were my lighthouse because i think i think it'll make the situation seem better, make it sound like i got something out of being admitted to hell even though i didn't. my parents say they got their daughter back but sometimes i think they're kidding themselves because i am still brainstorming ways to kill myself and i've come up with a pretty long list. but instead of writing them out i write pathetic bullshit poems like this:
to emma-
i hope you've eaten today. i hope you've swallowed happiness and a square meal whole.
to ben-
i hope you've stopped shrinking. i hope you're proud of your mass. you matter.
to serenity-
i hope you're still hopeful. i hope you've spoken to your father and he's reminded you of how you are more than that acronym.
to ashley-
i hope you have found a home. i hope the map of the streets fade off of your hands.
to levi-
i hope you've stopped hiding, or at least cut your hair.
to carter-
i hope the anger has dissipated, and that you smear your shit where it belongs.
to bethany-
i hope you let your art lead you, but not speak for you.
to brianna-
i hope you figured out why you were there.
to bridget-
i hope you've stopped pretending to faint when you're upset. i hope you wheeled your way out of the system.
i hope you are all in a place with plastic forks and shoe strings, where the chairs are light enough to not anchor you down. i hope you never have to watch rudy again. i hope that ward is a distant memory, not what it still is for me.
to myself-
i hope you stop wanting to return. i hope you forget about the people you invested too much meaning in. they didn't even know your name.
try to celebrate your progress, not the six days you spent as less than human.
there were the worst days of your life.
and i didn't even know them. and they didn't even know me. but maybe if i romanticize those days enough, twist them, crumple them into a paper ball, they'll be easier to swallow.
been trying for two years now. when my method works, i'll let you know.
sometimes i want to go back because there is comfort at rock bottom. sometimes i wish i'd killed myself two years ago, or three, or four. sometimes i feel alright, but then i remember community north. the yogurt. the safety plan. the desks. the beds. the nurses. how they looked through our folders each night, confiscated the papers that i wrote all of alex's information on in case i ever forgot.
i don't know what else to say. i don't know why i want to keep writing, why i want to memorialize this, because making a monolith of memories is the complete opposite of making them go away. but this is what i do best: obsess and overthink everything, which is why i haven't hurt my body yet. i am the world's least successful suicide. an emergency, but only if you're not busy. i wish i was an immediate threat.