Creative Writing · Dark · Death · Depression · Free Write · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Prose · Relationships · Writing

Stages of Grief: Fucking Anger

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Stages of Grief: Fucking Anger


I miss Stewart and I don’t know what to think or feel.

I have trouble processing emotions and describing what I am really feeling.


Anger. 


I am angry that I have to deal with another terrible thing. Angry that he did this. Angry at the pain myself and the others that loved him must now feel.


Angry that he walked away from me. Humiliated me. Cheated on me. Then begged for my attention. Again. Begged for me back. Again. And when I finally decided no; that I wouldn’t play this hot and cold game anymore, I was angry that he would not leave me alone.


Angry that he wouldn’t respect my boundaries.

Angry that he left me to pick up broken pieces.

Angry that he put me in a place to be the decision maker all over.


I am fucking pissed at myself for wanting his love and attention so terribly that I made myself sick.

I hate that I gave everything I had and that he took it all just the same.


I am angry that I had to plead for his loyalty and I am full of rage that he would have the audacity to ask for me back after everything he put me through.


And I am fucking pissed because he was my best friend…. I miss his stupid face that I want to hit and also kiss and never let go of again.


And most of all, I hate that I can not help but love him.


I am angry that after all this bullshit I still love him the same. 

And I am mad that he could not see that.


I regret that we will never go for a drive again. And that I did not take up his offer to go walking in the rain earlier this year because more than anything, I wanted that. I wanted to drop my entire day to be with him again. I spent that afternoon imagining us as lovers, as we once were. I spent those hours weeping at the loss of what could never be.


That we will not go roaming under the stars looking for some meaning on this earth.


I am angry that he left me with these memories that I can never share with any other.


That I have these things inside of me that I can not explain in the way that would make sense to anyone but him. Someone I can be fully free and myself with. No judgement.


Not a care in the entire fucking universe.


No person but you.


I feel such terrible sorrow remembering your grief. That look of broken spirit and defeat sitting in your eyes. How you cried at sentimental moments in movies and songs. How you had heartache most of your life and that it would come out at the strangest, most inconvenient times. Like at 3 a.m. when I needed to be to work at 8.


I am filled with bitter and broken anguish because I am stuck with all of this for the rest of my life and all I truly desire is for you to be back —

Creative Writing · Dark · Death · Depression · Free Write · Healing · I Miss You · Melancholy · Poetry · Relationships · Sadness · TW:Suicide · Writing

Aches and Pains

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A part of me longs to be with you

Blowing off the side of the bridge into the wind

Our bodies wrapping around and through one another

Our souls intertwined for eternity

Nothing between us

No one to separate our love

I yearn for the little boy you were

And the man I fell in love with

I ache for my best friend

To be hand in hand with you again

I wasn’t there to see you go

But I know you are waiting for me

With each breathe

I feel you entering my lungs

Pumping my blood

Your life and your death have fueled me

And the fire burns deep within

The flames and the heat

Ignite the night

I sleep through the daylight

Waiting to meet you once more

Like we have done

In so many lifetimes before

Creative Writing · Dark · Dreams · Free Write · Poetry

Nightmare

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It’s always you

Coming back in without permission

Invading my mind

You try to fuck me like the old days

And tell me i am overreacting

I watch you turn away

And disappear

This time her name is rachel

But i see her as a mirror

A compact i used to own

And i break her

In that porcelain bowl over and over

Then steal her and her money

It’s vegas

And were trapped in cars

Where i still can’t find mine

Shitting bags of vegetables

And ripping my skin off

Raw pieces i can not hide

Creative Writing · Dark · depersonalization · Depression · Free Write · Healing · Hope · Melancholy · Prose · Reflection · Relationships · Self-harm · Survivor · Writing

Moving Day

In march of 2015 I moved what few precious possessions I had decided to keep into this tiny studio apt that I would call home for the next 2 years. I did not have a bed. I threw out my dishes, clothing and books and gave away nearly all my furniture.

My first night in my little apartment was spent full of despair and confusion in my heart and mind. I was more than broken.  At the time I saw myself as hideous and unfixable. Undesirable in every way.  Though I sat troubled in this tiny room with my kitty wondering what possible terrible thing lay waiting for me next, I still had clarity enough to notice the quiet calmness around me. For the first time in several months I felt safe and the ton I had been carrying on my shoulders with chains dragging by my ankles were suddenly gone. I knew it was over and I felt guilty for enjoying that moment because I truly did not want any of it to be real.


I wanted to still be with the man I loved, even though his sickness was literally killing me. I did not want to feel peace without him. I wanted him and I wanted contentment but it was evident that those things could not coexist. Life with him was chaos. Unrelenting emotions at the blink of an eye. Unsuspecting pain and sadness that became a habit. Much like everything else of him, an addiction.


I struggled. I spent hours on that tiny bathroom floor sobbing. Sometimes putting slices in my thigh. Early into this journey it was late on a spring night and it was pouring rain and I just couldn’t be inside anymore. I took off down the street running. Soaking wet and panting. I walked up to the library. Everything was dark and dripping. There was a brick wall with a good ledge for sitting. I climbed up into the bushes and sat behind them. The trees above kept most of the rain off me, still I could not tell the difference between my tears and the earth’s weeping.


I lay there in the dirt for a long time. I do not know how long but my fingers became numb like the rest of me. I should have felt pain but I did not. I did not feel anything.


Around that same time. I had another evening. He called and got my mind all twisted again and I called my mom upset. I felt like I had no one anymore and she was far away and defending the others. I hung up and shut my phone off and climbed up the street and sat on the ledge looking down the cliffside. I could jump I thought. I could hope for a broken neck. Unlikely I considered and I sat looking into the dark tree tops waiting for this to end.


I spent my days working at my neighbor hospital. Watching mostly dead people roam by. It helped take my mind off my own suffering but watching people slowly die takes a lot out of one, one that barely had enough to give.


I never told my best friend that his anger at me pushed me over the edge. I called my boss in the morning and said “I’m not coming into work today. I haven’t slept because I spent the night pondering how best to kill myself.”  It goes without saying really that this did not end well. I panicked everyone and ended up naked on a ER bed with all my personal belongings taken away from me. I laid dead and numb for hours in that bed. I probably should have been admitted but I hated not having clothes and my phone so I played it off and instead got an uppage in my dose of medication and a leave of absence from work.


I never made it back.


My grandfather died a couple months later. I sat on that floor again. I wept until I passed out. I cried for hours, everyday for months. Sometimes the pain of missing him skips a beat of my heart and I find myself literally gasping and grasping at my chest. How does one recover from death? I do not think we ever do. One’s existence changes completely. You wake up a different person.


When you spend hours and days on days alone you learn things about yourself you previously thought incapable of. You forget the sound of your own voice. You have to talk out loud to remind yourself that you still exist. I would punch my skin to insure I was still alive. And indeed, this was all unfortunately not a dream.


Wake up. Go back to sleep. Forget. Remember and do it all over again. Write three papers, two at a time. Remember this is your purpose now. Just survive.


Today I packed up that tiny apartment, that hole I ran to as the world crashed all around me. I remember those days like a story, a novel of some other lifetime. Written and dedicated to me. I will not forget those days anytime soon but I look back as a proud mother. I nurtured myself along the way. I had to because no one else could or would.


Tonight you called me. I noticed a message four hours after. I do not listen. I do not read your words and I know you are waiting. Today I left the place I ran to because of you. Because of you I had to hide and I was begging for your calls.


Today I run only for myself. I despise what you did but I look back with a smile. Today you are begging for my calls. You long for what I used to crave. I go to bed at peace. 

Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Free Write · I Miss You · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Relationships · Sadness · Writing

I am hurting right now. I wish I could fix you. I wish I could mend us.

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You have no fucking clue

No idea of how much this hurts me

How much I want to hear your voice again

And hold your hand

The thought of your broken heart rips me

I am shredded to my core

Because of you

I want to tell you.

“Come to me. I will hold you.

I will take your pain for a moment.

I will lighten your burden.”

But I know, that you can not make that

That you can not have just a little

You are always too much

And I am always wanting it

Even when I know I should not

I wish I could take away your sickness

I wish I could make a new beginning

Or a beautiful ending

One that does not stop with your darkness

I pray to Gods and all that is Holy

For you to be healed

Please know I am waiting

I am believing

But I also know

I can not walk beside you

Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Free Write · Melancholy · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Reflection · Sadness · Self-harm · Writing

Beauty and the Beast

Tw:suicide, self-harm

It was New Year’s day and I sat curled up in the oversized arm chair thinking, “I deserve so much better than this.”

That’s when I knew it was the end. That it was over and there was no going back.


Reasoning these actions:


That I should not have to be up all night rocking back and forth. Wondering where you are and who you are doing. Fearing the possibilities of what the next horrible thing you will do, without a care  or second thought for me. Driving myself insane trying to decipher truth from your lies….deciding it would be better to die than to live through another day with your sickness.


This is the point I got to. I looked at the hole you punched in the wall. The mess of your clothes on the closet floor. Empty bottles all around our big and lonely apartment. Where did I go wrong?


A million answers and I can not find the only belt I own. I know the guns are no longer at home.


Swollen eyes. Gashes on my legs. I am shaking on the floor again and looking for a way. I watched my world crumbling around me as a natural disaster.  Too incredible and unbelievable to look away.  I could not conceive how you left me in such a state.


You are every broken piece in me.


And I decided a while back that was never going to change. You still rattle about inside of me but I keep you in a cage. You are the moster I run from. The beast I try to hide. 

Dark · Dreams · Free Write · I Miss You · Melancholy · Poetry · Sadness · Writing

I think you left today and I still want to save you. 

In that big house mixed with rooms we used to sleep in. Used to be together in.

You have a brother and I can’t remember where he came from.

On the old box tv with knobs and fuzzy faces.

Billie Jean plays on…

On that futon I lay across you.

I look you in the face and tell you I love you.

I know your mind is floating elsewhere.

Your brother joins and kisses me. His hands down my pants.

Still you do not notice.

Still you do not care.


The house is filled with cheap kids, punk rockers, old drunks.

The usuals.

They say they need me to get them liquor.

You say you want to come.

But the house turns dry and the heroin fades.


You say I am off the hook and to go away.

I place a glass lamp on your head and pour the water in.

I see you drowning.

I see you gasping.

Please don’t.


I keep turning over the globe but the liquid consumes your face.

I yell I am sorry.

I am so sorry.

I love you.

Please don’t die.

I try to smash this glass prison.

I smash it over and over on the cement.

They say the man isnt real.

But my best friend is on my left.


I scream until I am gasping and I wake inside my bed.

I long always to save you, into the reaches of my head.