To Heal, to Hurt, to Fight
It stings. There’s regret, and shame. But the image of my bloodied hands sticks in my mind. Reminds me why I have to do this, why it’s okay even if nobody will ever understand. Will ever know. I cry again. But it’s from relief.
Not because I’m screaming inside. Not because the voices that I cant quite hear are telling me that I’m alone, that nobody could ever love me. Not because I’m so fucking numb I can’t breathe and it hurts to feel nothing. Not because I want to bash my head against the wall until there is nothing left – wall or mind. Not out of fear. Or out of pain.
But because this is my release. This is my savior. My secret.
I fall asleep peacefully. And I awake the next day, refreshed, alive.
Not because I’m screaming inside. Not because the voices that I cant quite hear are telling me that I’m alone, that nobody could ever love me. Not because I’m so fucking numb I can’t breathe and it hurts to feel nothing. Not because I want to bash my head against the wall until there is nothing left – wall or mind. Not out of fear. Or out of pain.
But because this is my release. This is my savior. My secret.
I fall asleep peacefully. And I awake the next day, refreshed, alive.