It started off as an escape
An honest distraction,
Just to reshape
The always-constant never-ending never-ceasing never-stopping
Reaction in my body tensing-up-ing heart-a-pounding hard-to-breathe-ing
Need-to-run-ing energy-sapping fear-renewing movement-trapping
Call it anxiety.
Then it was a just-in-case,
The invisible man now here, now there,
Some scratches here, a bigger one there
Will keep him away;
That sounds fair.
Some symptoms are never given a name.
Before you know it,
It’s a well-why-not?
It’ll heal up nice, there’s no reason to stop.
This body deserves pain and I won’t deny it;
I mean, the boot fits
And it’s better than crying.
By now it’s early days with ‘obsession’
There’s no danger yet, and we’ll call it depression.
Later still, and they won’t understand –
If I don’t do it, there’s blood on my hands.
Every other moment before my eyes,
my tortured. screaming. sisters. die.
The deeper I go, the less I’m blamed
for the cut-up strangers that know my name.
My skin is painted with guilty have-to’s
Who knew OCD could leave such a bruise?
The cuts and marks don’t stand for ‘attention’
It’s not ok, but it’s an intervention
Whether for angst or attack,
For justice, where it lacks.
It’s a call for help,
A brain-chemical hack.
There’s everything that comes with it:
Stares, silence, other social widgets,
Your weakness. Your wrongness,
Oh, how great the weight of society on the misunderstood.
**SELF-HARM IS A SYMPTOM OF MUCH BIGGER PROBLEMS. IT IS DANGEROUS AND HARMFUL FOR THE SUFFERER. PLEASE REACH OUT TO THOSE WHO MAY BE SUFFERING**