Wanting (control)

Part 1 of a 9 part poem.

This is the start 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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What drives a person to death?

What drives a person to avoid death?

How does someone come to embrace life and death?

A pure, innocent life doesn’t know to fear death

Doesn’t learn to embrace death.

All worries are consumed by the basic need for comfort.

Are their bellies full? Their diapers clean?

Perhaps a bit of love from a parent’s embrace?

So why then do some of us grow to embrace death?

To seek it out?

Is life really so bad that death becomes the better option?

Is it a real want? A real need?

Or is there something more?

Parents can be blamed to an extent.

So can society.

Even biology.

Is it laziness?

Not wanting to put in the effort to live?

Hoping that death brings a sweet, blissful nothingness?

It’s a quiet world away from the noise.

Away from the pain.

So much pain.

And blame.

For not being good enough.

For not being successful enough.

For not following what others expect of you.

For putting on an act for years to hide the pain.

Wallowing in pain.

Hiding it away.

Building it up until one day

It consumes you.

Leaving bread crumbs

So maybe if someone cares enough they can see.

See the pain.

The fear.

The blame.

Not on others.

But on me.

I did this to myself.

It’s my fault.

My burden.

It’s my choice.

But is this really me?

Is it the darkness inside me -

That’s controlled me all my life?

Disguised itself as me until I can’t tell the difference anymore?

What am I without it?

Has any of it been real?

The tears?

The pain?

Will it all fade away?

Will I forget all of it?

But I can’t.

I won’t.

I have to remember.

I have to remember the words.

I am worthless.

I’m a failure.

I’m not good enough.

I deserve to die.

I want to die.

No one really cares.

The words I fell asleep to so many nights.

My anthem.

No matter how I tried to ignore it - to rewrite it.

They always come back.

Branded on my skin, in my mind, on my heart.

It’s my secret truth.

So hard to shake.

No matter how I try.

And I try.

I find a light.

I show it to the dark.

For a short time the shadows melt away.

But they laugh at me.

We both know they’ll be back.

Stronger than ever.

And I don’t know how much longer I can fight them.

It grows harder.

Before they would wait quietly for night to come.

Now they attack at all hours of the day.

Leaving me exhausted to fall into welcome sleep.

How can I live and fight the demons?

I don’t do it alone.

I know that.

But it’s hard to trust anyone with the full extent of my darkness.

It’s better that it stays there - in the dark.

My fault. My burden. My choice.

Lines remind me of that.

It’s my choice.

I am in control.