Waiting (for death)

Part 4 of a 9 part poem.

This is the fourth 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 is 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 I’m here.

In the calm between the storms.

Forcing myself to breathe.

Forcing myself to do nothing.

To think of nothing.

Trying to just be.

To exist.

Letting the emptiness calm me.

Not torture me.

But it’s like blowing out a fire with my lungs.

Exhausting.

Ineffective.

The flames lick my skin but I ignore it.

I pretend I’m not burned.

I pretend I’m doing alright.

In the hopes that one day I will be.

I keep everyone back.

Anyone who’s a reminder.

Anyone who can remind me of who I’ve been.

Of who I’m trying to run from.

To escape from.

To bury in the ground.

Enough pretending.

Enough forcing smiles.

I’m done with it.

I’m not a happy person.

I’ve never been.

A smile is the easiest mask to wear.

So easy others think it’s natural.

I hide bits of my true self away.

Pretend to be something else.

Strong. Independent. Emotionless.

But I’m not.

Fragile. Uncertain. Broken.

Afraid.

So afraid of unfounded fears.

The fears become my truth.

A false truth.

Meant to force me into submission.

I let the words others speak morph in my mind.

Into uglier truths.

Not from them. But from me.

You’re just being dramatic.

You’ll get over it.

It’s just your period.

It’s my fault.

I’m choosing to do this to myself.

I can just stop.

Stop feeling sad.

Stop feeling worthless.

Useless.

Afraid.

Broken.

Just stop.

Easy as that.

Never once considering maybe it’s out of my control.

No matter how I may try -

Try to meditate.

Try to breathe.

Try to find calm.

It’ll never really work.

Half-measures.

Only part of the way to a normal so lost from me I don’t even know what to look for.

I needed help.

I cried out for help.

I was shut down.

Turned away.

Forced to hide.

Become distrustful.

My normal became hiding my feelings.

My environment told me this is the solution.

Cry behind closed doors.

Wish to die in my head.

Feel alone.

Tucked in a corner of my room.

In my closet.

Fall asleep and hope the morning will dry my tears.

Seal away my emotions.

Who would’ve thought this would hurt even more.

Doing this for over a decade.

Nearly half of my life.

Unsure when exactly it started.

Knowing it started small.

Growing as I did.

Becoming stronger.

Entwining itself in my soul.

Seemingly impossible to remove.

Permanent.

Hidden.

Consuming me.

And I wait.

Wait to die.

Wanting to die.

For it all to stop.

So I can rest.

Feel free.

Perhaps happy.

Or at least at peace.