Anxiety · Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Free Write · Healing · Personal · Poetry · Reflection · Writing

Rise Again

When you died

A piece of me went with you

I knew that moment

Could never be undone

And that my life until then

Was over and through


There are some things you can never recover from

There are pieces that can not be forced

Or repaired and reassembled

Into a recognizable source


So you take the shambled pieces

And create a new painting

A sculpture

And you bleed into the seams

Watching as the thread passes

In and out you will weave


There is beauty in your imperfection

As we recite our lovers ways

The broken and the shallow

Pass through our later days


The fabric will burn

The color will fade

A pile of ashen color

Upon the earth displayed


You will recall the day you were broken

When you find yourself here again

So begin the ritual building

Your formation is your pain

Anxiety · Personal · Writing

Hazelnut

I am mad right now. Because I went to the ER last night because I ate hazelnut and had an allergic reaction. I had only had slight tingly and itching in my throat the last time I ate some Nutella, so I decided to see if it would happen again. It did but much worse. Itchy all over, mouth and lips tingly and numb, my heart was racing. So I took a lot of benadryl because it wasn’t helping after the first two or three, so I took two more. Still wasn’t helping. Then I got diarrhea. And my hands started feeling numb, so I took myself to the ER at about 0100.

This is where I was met with assholes, wondering wtf I was doing there. The questioning looks of the nurses and the techs, asking me if I used my epipen. “No.” Because I don’t own one, I’ve never needed one. The resident all but accused me of being a drug addict and started explaining how you can tell the differences between a cholinergic reaction and an anticholinergic reaction. And that I probably wasn’t on cocaine because my skin and mouth was dry… like seriously, I’m fucking poor. Too poor for cocaine and too poor to come into the ER for no reason. Anyway, the MD came in after the resident and she was much nicer. In the end I was given a ranitidine and a prescription for prednisone, which is good because I’m still itchy today but haven’t gone and filled it yet. I slept most of the day because I was up all night and I missed my first class. I’m sitting in my second class now, wondering why I even bother. Long story short, I’m allergic to hazelnut and next time I’ll just stay home and not subject myself to the humiliation of going to the ER. 

Anxiety · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Poetry · Writing

It starts again

It’s nearly morning again and I have spent the entire night awake as per my usual. My knees are shaking and I can feel a flutter in my heart. Why now? Why is it now?

I am told I need to feel, to express these muted emotions. I have taken my reactions and suppressed all the urges to cry or scream or speak my truths.


What that is, I could not explain and perhaps this healing must be done incoherently and on my knees. I sense this pervasive sufferering  and I can not tell if my heart is overflowing or a hollow cavern. My body feels foreign. I can not tell where my skin begins.


They tell me it’s okay and it’s over…

But it’s not for me, it replays nightmarish images. Oh please God, oh please let this be fictitious.


I’m not sure how much this tiny one can handle. I shutter into reality. 

Anxiety · Creative Writing · Depression · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Self-harm · Suicide · Writing

Blood Painted Skies

Sometimes this life

Being overly complex

I go in circles it seems

Dreaming of a fix


I could not write it down

These words are failing

As the time passes 

Thoughts always invading


I tried to love you

Enough to fill the sea

The value of a mother

And all that you will never be


Was patterned among the shadows

As I scraped my veins

Your inconsistency and madness

That slowly drove me insane


I inscribed you on the inside

I carved it in my thigh

I wanted you to see it…

To see my blood painted through the sky

Anxiety · Broken Up · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Personal · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Writing

I Want to Hate You

I have spent months reading about your terribleness, your sickness and finding every reason to revel in my suffering and despise you.

But what I keep going back to is the image of you, late at night crying in my arms.

You grasping at your chest, filled with grief, eyes glossy and missing your father.


Watching you drink and cry at song lyrics. You played them over and over until they were set in me and the tears flow freely.

Your eyes were stars and I was always left gazing.


You are begging me not to leave you, not to give up on you…on us.

My heart breaks everyday for you and then slowly pieced back together with spite and anger.


I do it over and over.


I recall you leaving me in the middle of the night and going to jail.

Selling our belongings for a fix and trinkets always gone missing.


I remember the accusations of betrayal and infidelity and feeling so confused when you are on your knees telling me otherwise.


Oh, how I wanted to believe you.


I want to and I find myself in momentary but ever fluctuating  dissonance.


You told me, you promised I would.


If you truly love someone, you will hate them just as much. You will hate me one day. You really should.  

Anxiety · Creative Writing · Depression · Free Write · Poetry · Self-harm · Writing

What is this?

I am bad.

I must be bad.

That’s what the words on the pages told me.

I have seen it.

The others and they are crazy.

So am I.

All this time was just called anxiety.

But it always felt worse…so much worse then others could understand.

I can not find the words.

I choke on the mumbling and every sentence comes up short.

“I’m not an angry person” I think?

What do I even know?

Perhaps nothing was ever real.

Nobody wants me.

Nobody wants this kind of broken.

Pieces of broken shells and scattered notes throughout.

I tried to write you a song, a sonnet to express this love.

I feel everything too deeply so I watch you make a cut.

My hands are numb like my heart.

Except I still see the crumbs scattered at beneath the top.

I dig down in.

Reaching for your loss.

Please don’t leave me.

Please don’t stop. 

Anxiety · Creative Writing · depersonalization · Depression · Disassociation · Free Write · Personal · Poetry · Writing

Depersonalization or Disassociation?

When it happens I feel as though I have never existed but also that I have been in this state for all of eternity.

I can feel the beginning of the universe forming, deep within my bones, I can see these stars, and then I observe myself floating away.


I can no longer feel my body. I look down at my hands and do not recognize them. They feel foreign and unfamiliar.


My heart starts to pound as I look around. Grasping for anything that will send me back to reality.


Minutes, or perhaps only seconds pass. The moment continues on for an uncertain measurement.


Panic sets in and I remember:


I can recall this ancient sensation. The one that brought me here in the first place. I remember the feeling of the cold, dark beginnings but also the warmth of the sun.


I manage to pull my consciousness back between my ears. The reel stops. I am numb and in my body again.