Sadness sweeps through your buzzing brain,

As you count what pills are left in your stash.

Nineteen.

You’d have enough for today and tomorrow.

But you needed more.

Tonight though,

You had other plans.

You wanted a trigger finger antidote

Self-Destruction.

Instead, you went for a cold sharp blade.

Suicide.

You sat isolated in your room

As the moonlight hits your emaciated face.

Nobody puts baby in the corner.

But you burned all your bridges,

And so, you sit in darkness.

Eighteen.

The only light you ever saw came from that same foiled reflection sitting by your feet.

And so, you dig the razor deeper into your left wrist

As you begin to weep.

Red dye starts to trickle down from the open wound,

Onto your rose-colored bed-sheets.

Tears tangled in between,

It was a bloody mess.

But you keep going anyway.

You dig the razor a little deeper into the lower portion of your wrist.

Seventeen.

You realize that although you’re crying,

You’re numb;

Lacking emotion—

Ignorant;

Lacking knowledge—

Empty.

You wanted to feel fucking pain.

You just wanted to feel something;

Yet the only thing you felt was misery.

They say misery loves company,

But tonight,

Like most,

You were on your own.

Sixteen.

Well, you had your pills.

You always had those,

You made sure of it.

In short, you had the blues—

Bad.

Literally and figuratively,

Nine times a day,

Hell, you’d do as many as you could get your hands on,

But that’s beside the point.

Fifteen.

Like all other nights,

You wanted to feel good,

You’d take anything but this.

Instead, you chose pain,

Fear,

Isolation.

Heck, it chose you.

Living behind closed doors is hard to do,

But you do it so well.

They call it a double life,

You call it hell.

Fourteen.

 

Tonight, you had enough;

Sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.

It’s like you’ll never be that happy girl again.

But it makes sense.

You do bad things.

You did bad things.

And you feel bad for doing

And continuing to do those bad things.

So you carry that

And your guilty conscience around for a little while longer.

But you need relief right now.

How do you take the pain away?

You do not know.

So, you dig.

You slide the razor deeper into your wrist.

Not deep enough, though.

Thirteen.

Maybe there’s a reason for that.

It’s like you never had the guts to do this before.

What came over you tonight?

It could be flashes of historical chaos?

Yesterday lingers like a permanent hot flash—

Panic.

You did this to yourself.

But you can’t stop.

It’s like you’re just as much addicted to the process,

As you are the drugs themselves.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Did it ever though?

No one here who understands,

Everyone left.

You’re alone—

Ashamed.

Like you’re the one to blame for it all.

Everything’s your fault.

And there’s no way back,

So you spark up another.

Twelve.

You’re on your way to hell except you’re frozen,

Ice cold.

Wet eyes begin to drop watery tears

That fall from your face onto the open wound,

When you realize it didn’t work.

What else is new?

You couldn’t do anything right.

Eleven.

So you put the bloody razor back on your nightstand

On top of a paper towel,

That you previously prepared for this very moment.

And then, you get up.

You walk across your room thinking—

Ugh;

“Why am I still here?”

You stare at yourself in the dusty full-length mirror

That hangs on the wall next to your sliding closet doors,

As you collapse onto the cold floor beside your reflection—

Weak.

“Now what?”

You don’t know.

You didn’t account for it not working.

At this point, you thought you’d be gone.

You thought the suffering would be over.

But it’s not.

And you don’t think it ever will be.

Ten.

You pick yourself up off the floor

Figuratively and physically,

Epic fail.

You felt like a corpse.

The truth is, you were.

So you crawl back in bed and do another pill count.

Nine.

Life seems so meaningless.

There’s nothing to look forward too anymore.

You were officially paralyzed,

And honestly,

That’s how you normally lived.

Truthfully, that’s how you liked it.

So you grab the lighter by your feet.

You pick up that broken hollowed out pen,

Press it to your lips and chase the dragon,

This was the process.

You didn’t want to do it anymore.

Yet it’s all you could think of.

You couldn’t slow down.

You couldn’t stop.

You had to have it.

Honestly though,

You wanted to die.

You wanted to sleep and never wake up—

Boom.

But it’s getting late.

You start to clean up the remnants of your suicide attempt,

As panic strangles you,

Figuratively and physically.

Eight.

You didn’t want to be this dirty girl anymore.

Easier said than done when you’re addicted.

You were doing over 900 milligrams a day.

You couldn’t even get out of bed before snorting 60.

Because your body would hurt

When you’d go without,

But it was your head that throbbed the most.

Your mind simply couldn’t deal with the wreckage.

It was more of what you did,

What you had to do

To get your drugs that induced the most pain.

So, you snort another pill.

Seven.

They say this too shall pass.

But it doesn’t.

The obsession won’t fade.

And you can’t seem to die.

You need its lingering scent to scatter,

But it stays—

Persistence.

Since there’s nothing else to do, you pick the same lighter up,

Grab the same pen and suck.

You chase the dragon for the umteetnth time.

Six.

It was like you’re there,

But you’re not.

You want to be present,

But something is always in your way.

Maybe it’s the fact that your life revolves around these damn pills.

Risking everything just to get high.

Risking it all for absolutely nothing.

Your next moment of paused pain,

Gets ignited by the flames of your lighter,

But that hurt is never really gone.

It’s only put on hold for this brief moment of inebriation.

Your mind won’t ever shut the fuck up.

Five.

Why do you think no one cares?

Why do you feel like running away?

Grasp for air,

There’s nothing left.

You try to fall asleep but you can’t escape your buzzing brain.

Maybe that’s why you liked it numb?

Maybe that’s why you’re addicted?

Four.

Midnight strikes the clock.

As hunger pains strike you.

Maybe you do need some food?

Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep?

Midnight snack?

Maybe, maybe not.

Pills were your nourishment.

Helping you one line at a time.

Killing you milligram by milligram.

Even though you craved every second of it—

Three.

It’s funny because on the outside,

You seemed perfect.

No one knew you were an addict.

Keeping it all together

Just to crash and burn;

Alone in your vacant room.

Two.

But your insides were dull—

Darkened.

Yet you smiled brightly,

So bright that when the moonlight hits your face,

It shatters but in a way, it wakes you up.

One.

Because even though, you feel worthless right now,

You realize that tomorrow is a new day.

And even though you failed tonight,

Deep down,

You know things will eventually be alright.

Zero.

xoxo,

macey bee

you may, at times, feel lonely but you’re never actually alone.

there were times in my past that i literally wanted to die. there were times when i thought about doing it. and this one time, i actually did. but that’s not me anymore and it doesn’t have to be you.

if you’re embarrassed to talk about something, don’t be. chances are, someone out there right now is going through the exact same thing. chances are, someone else overcame it.