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.

For the life of the flesh is in the blood.

Last night was NOT easy. At all.

During class that afternoon, my eyes were continuously drawn to a friend in one of my classes. Let’s call him Jason.
He seemed distressed. His eyes were full of sadness…but that just made me watch him more.

He came over last night. We talked about everything wrong in our lives. About his past with drugs and losing friends to violence. About my voices and the shadows.

When I told him about the voices…

“What are their names, Rosie?”

“I’m not allowed to know their names…I’m not important enough.”

“Mmm. Andrew and Monica.”


Knowing I haven’t been sleeping well lately, he tried to get me to relax by telling me to relax each part of my body one by one.


It started to work. It almost worked.


With my eyes closed, all I could see in my mind was the rape from inside the mental facility. I could see him on top of me. Forcing himself inside me. Holding me down even though I was too drugged to be able to push him off. Or to scream. Or to say no.


He kissed me.

It was the BEST kiss I’ve ever had.
That’s scares me.

My voices took advantage of my vulnerability after he left me with just a goodnight kiss to get through the night.

Long story short.

I relapsed last night.

17 cuts on my upper thigh.

But I’m fine.

Medicated Perfection.