F***ing (over it)

Part 5 of a 9 part poem.

This is the fifth part of a poem I began writing while starting medication for the first time, treating depression and anxiety. The first try was not the right fit for me and drove me deeper into the dark. It's not until later on that things began looking up.

The compellation of these nine poems I've titled, Becoming (Me).

***Trigger Warning: Topics brought up in this part of the poem get pretty dark, since I was in a very dark place when writing this. Suicide and self harm are not the answer, and you'll soon see that this is a struggle I overcome throughout the rest of the poem.

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And now everyone knows.

F***ing everyone knows now.

One small betrayal turns into a thousand explanations.

One I didn’t want to give.

Not now.

When everything is raw.

A blunt knife.

Because I’m over this shit.

I’m done pretending.

I’m done answering with “I’m fine.”

“I’m okay.”

I’m NOT!

I’ve been so far from okay I’ve wanted to die.

I’ve come close to trying.

Why the hell should I have to pretend anymore?

If people really want to know how I’m doing

I’ll let them know!

I don’t care anymore!

Everyone seems to know now anyway.

Who else am I hiding from?

I’m bitter.

I’m pissed.

I’m an empty husk.

Who am I pretending to be okay for?

It sure as hell hasn’t helped me.

Why am I trying to make other people feel better by saying I’m ok.

Why am I making their lives easier?

But making mine a trainwreck?

Some of these people being the very ones who helped get me in this dark hole.

I didn’t know how to ask for help.

I didn’t know I was allowed to.

There were signs.

I left signs.

That I needed help.

Non-verbal.

Harder to see.

But there nonetheless.

There’s a reason I never spoke about my feelings.

How I was feeling.

Beyond the throat crushing “I’m fine.”

There’s a reason I hated physical contact.

Why I never hugged willingly.

Half-heartedly.

To protect the small piece of heart - of positive feelings - I had.

I was and am ill.

I’ve been growing more and more ill every day.

For years.

Since middle school.

Maybe before.

I had no confidence.

I hid.

Everything.

I never really believed in myself.

Never thought I would amount to anything.

Never thought I would have something to give.

I pretended.

I gave people what I thought they wanted to see.

That’s the secret behind my perfect essays.

I’ve always known that.

I know what people want to see.

What people want to hear.

I’ve been doing it for so long it’s instinctive.

I’m not sure when I’m genuine or faking anymore.

The line is blurred.

Maybe that’s why I turned to the arts.

It’s all pretending.

And I do that every day.

I pretend to be someone else.

I pretend I’m somewhere else.

I build a world where I can start over.

Where I can be free.

But now even those worlds are gone.

The darkness inside of me finally took that away.

The small part of me that was still a child.

My little light.

Blown out by the harshness of the real world.

By adulthood.

By the need to fully embody everything everyone has expected of me.

I don’t want to anymore.

I want to stop.

I want to live for myself.

I want to be who I want to be.

I want to find out who the hell that even is.

I don’t want to live to work.

I want to live to live.

Work just pays the bills.

But stays at work.

I don’t drag it into bed with me.

Invite it to eat with me.

I want a family.

For the first time in my life.

I actually genuinely want something that I know will make me happy.

I don’t want to die before I can get there.

I don’t want to make the same mistakes.

I don’t want to be consumed by anxiety.

For once in my life I want to be happy with just existing.

I want a home.

A real home.

I have the beginnings of one I think.

It’s the only thing - the only person - who’s really given me a sense of hope.

I want to live.

I want a future.

I can’t see how I’ll get there.

But I want it.

Somedays I see it better than others.

But it’s there now.

In my mind.

It’s the one prayer I’ve ever said.

Please god please - give me the strength to reach it.