Teen

Fri, 01/10/2014 - 12:35 -- Channy

Location

From the very first breath at fresh life she wasn't there.
It didn't occur until I relapsed that I was eight when she came back.
And they told me to love her even though she left me for the boys.
And that dad was leaving, that I had to live with this stranger.
 
I wrote an introduction to my life beginning with that fresh breath on the wrist of my enemies.
And I wondered what would soon feed my sadistic addiction seven years later.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
 
I halfway blame that stranger for what I experienced for six years.
But I realize that she's not the enemy and I continued to blame the addiction.
"Maybe if I didn't I wouldn't be a mess" And when I sleep flashbacks surge
because the image was burned in my head forever that Saturday afternoon,
because the blockade wasn't strong enough and the cuts weren't deep enough
and the breaths weren't short enough.
 
And life starts again.
And the sun shines again and the earth continues.
And now I'm 11,
and now I cry when nutrition enters my bloodstream
and I do all I can to rid myself of the feeling of bloating.
And I'm faint, barely walking, because I got tips from the doll boxes and the teen magazines,
telling me EDs are the only thing to get them to like you in high school.
And it takes me years to recognize the lies before the hospital bed does.
 
And the stranger, I still want to blame her and it’s still never her fault.
And what do I say?
What's the worst that I can say?
The worst thing I can do is stay.
As they stare me down saying "impress me good luck, impress me, good luck, impress me, good luck."
Until I crack... ​
 
And now I don't remember and the enemy's wrist are torn waiting for my apologies, but nothing.
because the sadistic hunger engulfs me.
And I'm 13 realizing that LGBTQ doesn't mean "Let girls be the queen"
but "Let's give bastards their quarter"
and I'm a cigarette butt in the mouth of America the beautiful.
Or a levee that St. Bernard couldn't rely on.
But either way I'm a disgusting failure.
I'm almost positive that stranger secretly hates me
and I'm almost positive that my peers hate me but I'm absolutely positive that the enemy hates me.
With a mutual feeling and a constant teeter from regret to acceptance every six months
as the enemy whispers become truth while I rip their skin again because my explosion is nothing.
 
Nothing more than being a teenager.
 
Right?

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741