Searching (for me)

Part 2 of a 9 part poem.

This is the second 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 struggle I overcome throughout the rest of the poem.

---

Until I’m not.

I’m not me anymore.

I don’t know who I am.

Always wishing to be someone else - something else.

Wishing for something horrible to happen.

For something wonderful.

Dreaming until it hurts to dream.

And the dreams turn to nightmares that turn into life.

Real life - harsh, cruel, painful.

I long for the days before I knew the true feeling of betrayal.

Betrayed by friends, family, once-loved ones.

It adds to the pain. To the reason.

Why endure this?

Why stand for this?

Curl up in bed, under the covers where no one can find you.

Where no one can hurt you.

And wait for the day the Grim Reaper comes for you.

It will be the warmest embrace of them all.

A welcome embrace.

A sigh of relief.

Even knowing what will be left behind.

For faithful friends, for forgotten family.

For true love.

The hardest of them all to leave.

The strongest ray of hope for a future.

A trusted ear.

A gentle kiss.

A safe embrace.

An unexpected miracle.

The beat of my heart…

A small house with a simple yard on a quiet street.

An old dog watching over a young child lying on the floor, playing with the stars.

A husband and wife sitting on either side.

Smiling blissfully down at the little one.

Not a care in the world.

Not worried about keeping a roof over their heads.

Of keeping food in their bellies and light and warmth in their rooms.

Sure of tomorrow and the day after.

I can’t promise beyond a day.

I can’t see further than the end of the week.

Sometimes not even to the end of the day.

I let my stomach growl.

I let my head grow heavy and body grow cold.

I welcome the pain.

The punishment.

I don’t plan on staying.

Why should I waste resources?

Nothing matters anymore.

If it ever has.

What worth is school if you don’t plan to live to use it?

What’s the point of the A’s when they mean nothing?

Grades don’t matter.

Trying your hardest 24/7 is pointless if it burns you out.

Making decisions quickly - early is pointless if you don’t know who you are.

Why?

Why is this the way of the world?

It chews you up while you’re young.

Know your future. Plan your future. Become your future.

Know who you are. Know where you’re going. Know how you’ll get there.

I. Don’t. Know. Who. I. Am.

How the hell am I supposed to know my future when I’m not even a adult yet?

How the hell am I supposed to have answers when I couldn’t even enjoy my childhood?

Too busy studying. Too busy doing homework.

Too busy trying to be perfect!

Sometimes I want to go back.

Change my past.

To hell with perfect grades and perfect papers.

To hell with being the “good, independent girl.”

I want to explore. To play.

To experiment. To love. To fall out of love.

To make MISTAKES.

Because now, today, I know ALL of it was a mistake.

I was wrong.

I wasn’t perfect in my perfection.

I may not have hurt my body, but I tortured my mind.

Thoughts of jumping out the window. Off the roof.

Of drinking a gallon of bleach.

Of ramming a blunt, decorative sword through my chest.

Of hanging myself from the ceiling fan.

Of ramming my car into oncoming traffic.

Of ending it all.

Or if not ending it all.

Maybe running away.

Disappearing from everyone.

Taking what I have and trying again.

In a harsher world. But one without expectations.

Where I may have a chance to find me.

Who I am.

What I want.

How to feel happy.

Genuinely happy.