Why?

When I was 16 I cried I felt the salty bleach run down my cheeks
I cried and cried until my body was empty
I didn't understand why I felt nothing
I wanted to die
One day I didn't cut deep enough I felt the stinging and burning pain as I stopped myself from passing out right there
I took pills like they were ticktacks and i was a child not just one but seven at a time
Looking for something more then just sleep I would just keep taking pills until I felt as though I could sneak into the bed of my own depression wrapping myself in the cold blankets of failure and self destruction
I blanked out removing the memories of blood dripping and knives falling
I Came to in the car where my self hatred raged inside and escaping through the grand canyons I carved into my arms
My dad and mom sitting in the front seats as though they already let me die in their minds
My arms burned like the anger from the English teacher when you used the wrong font on the final exam of the year
As I sat there holding cloth to the ragged wounds I bled until I had to rotate the rag to prevent bleeding through as though I was a farmer rotating crops
It felt like i was looking at my life through the bent reflection on the back of spoons
I thought for sure this was it I didn't expect to be awake when I arrived at the hospital
Doctors and nurses were shocked as if a walking Frankenstein walked into the ER unsure how it was alive or even moving
Locked away in the hospital like a war prisoner being tortured
I layed there and felt the pills in my stomach no pain but still as if acid was boiling my from the inside
I told the doctors they contorted with fear and anger
I woke up on the mental health floor looking out my door into the empty space they had waiting
I fell and cried the weight of the empty air inside was still far too heavy
I just wanted to die
After I healed and left I realised
It's not that I didn't cut deep enough
I didn't cut in the right place I was merely a butcher
The next few years I've been cutting and dismembering the unannounced visitors named guilt, bulimia, and depression
My surgeons and tools consisted of cats, and love
Sometimes I feel like I'm not enough
I feel like an empty shell filled with nothing but poisonous gas destroying everything inside and slowly escaping through my mouth and eyes as I slowly poison the world around me
But I'm reminded constantly as if my love for my boyfriend and cats are drillsergeants reminding me of the war inside my head and how I have to fight every day on the battlefield of emotions just so happiness can prevail
I can't say the war has been won but the frontline of my happiness has slowly been pushing back the insurgents of depression
Somedays the multiple barrages of constant artillery fire filled with thoughts of not eating and wanting to die become too much
But I always refuse to give up
©diana_b