Seek his kingdom

I just finished cutting. 

My first time in 2016. 

There goes my New Year’s resolution. 
I haven’t been taking my medicine. Partly because it’s inconvenient, and partly because I’m tired of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be fine without it. Sometimes I feel like I’m rebelling against it because I want to feel this way. I want to cut. I want to feel hopeless. 

But other times…I just want to be normal. I want to be happy and laugh at the little things. Lately, laughing takes a whole lot of effort. Everything takes a whole lot of effort. 

I’m trying to fill the hole in my heart with a man, but I’m not having much luck. Every time it seems like someone wants to be with me, their actions show that they are only interested in fucking me. 

I suppose I’ll just continue feeling this way until I decide I want to be better. 

Medicated Perfection. 


A crushed spirit dries up the bones. 

When your boyfriend is thinking of breaking up with you because he can’t handle your depression, one sits in bed trying not to slit their wrist. 

When your stomach has been in knots all day waiting for your boyfriend to say you can come over to talk, one sleeps as much as possible so they don’t have to sit in agonizing pain. 

When your boyfriend cancels on you, one wishes to cut so badly they can hardly breath. 

When you can’t cut because it will make your boyfriend even more upset with you, one tries all sorts of ridiculous coping mechanisms trying to resist the strong urge to cut. 

When you can’t suppress the darkness…one cuts.  


Medicated Perfection. 

But hope that is seen is not hope at all.


I wrote a poem.

With one short breath she drowns away
The sorrows she lives with every day.
The relief she finds in a knife
Will one day slowly end her life.
It’s not that she never ever feels good,
It’s the voices that make her regret where she’s stood.
If only they knew, if only they cared
Then maybe she wouldn’t be so fucking scared.
The screams in her head make it hard to deal
With the fact that she’d just rather not feel.
The twist in the story is that “she” is me,
And I’d give anything for someone to set me free.

Medicated Perfection.

You shall not make any cuts on your body.

She’s upset; bad day
Heads for the dresser drawer to drive her pain away
Nothing good can come of this
She opens it there’s nothing…
There is only left over tears
Mom and dad had no right; she screams as the anger runs down both of her cheeks

Then she closed her eyes
Found relief in a knife
The blood flows as she cries

All alone the way she feels
Left alone to deal with all the pain-drenched sorrow;
Bite the lip, just forget the bleeding

Then she closed her eyes
Found relief in a knife
The blood flows as she cries

Curled up she’s on the floor
Relief left her, she had hoped for something more from it
He leans down to comfort her
She is weeping and he wraps his arms around and around and around and…

The deeper you cut
The deeper I hurt
The deeper you cut
It only gets worse

Now she’s slowly opening…
Yeah, she’s slowly opening new eyes…

She opened her eyes, and found relief in his life and put down her knives
She opened her life, and found relief through his eyes and she put down her knife.

I wish I had a “him” to make me want to open my eyes and put away my blade. But no. I have no one I can trust.

Until later…

Medicated Perfection.


Plans to prosper.

I’m doing well today.

I mean, I’m alright.

I’m okay.

I was bad last night.
I made art. On my arms.

I was supposed to drive back to school today.

Now I’m in a local mental health and addiction rehabilitation center waiting to be “evaluated.”

Happy New Year to me.

Medicated Perfection.