An Empty Room

Fri, 11/06/2015 - 00:42 -- Jayci

I am  4 years old, spinning round and round in

an empty room.

Laughter resonates off the crisp blue walls of my new room.

Life seems full of joy, wonder, and potential.

 

I am 6 years old, petrified sitting in the dark corner of

an empty room.

Daunting yellow light splits through the doorway as my brother creeks open the door.

Screaming and yelling barge their way into my room, joining the unwanted light.

Banishing the light and the disturbing sounds from my room, my brother shuts the door and stumbles over to me in the dark where we silently embrace, tears streaming down our cheeks.

Life seems terrifying, chaotic. A feeling of “nodus tollens” overwhelms me.

 

I am 7 years old, struggling to move boxes into

an empty room.

New state, new city, new house, new school, new friends, no dad.

Lush emerald grass springs up outside and makes false promises of a fresh start and a happy childhood.

Life seems exciting and new but trepidation plagues my mind.

 

I am 9 years old, pacing back and forth in

an empty room.

Tension knots up in my shoulders. Anxiety churns my stomach.

They enter, and tell me I will be ripped from my mother and placed in the custody of my “father”.

Yellow fills my teary eyes when I look down in defeat at my ironically optimistic yellow socks

Life seems cruel, unjust, and criminal.

 

I am 11 years old, shaking in

an empty room.

The counselor left to call CPS after reports of abuse from our new stepmom.

Regret and dread forcibly made my pale white hands tremor. I knew the punishment for abandoning the facade of the perfect family outweighed the risk of saying anything to the ignorant school counselor.

Life seemed over, I knew there was no coming back from this.

 

I am 14 years old, falling deep into depression, all alone in

an empty room.

I feel nothing and everything at the same time. Overwhelmed I want to seek help,

but I have learned to resent counselors, hide from trusting friends, developed a skill of pretending everything is perfect.

Blackness fills my vision as my eyelids shut out the world and I am lulled into a restless sleep.

Life seems dull, void of joy wonder or potential.

 

I am 16 years old, my head spinning round and round in

an empty room

Sharp lines of red pain are etched into my wrist. The cool metal of the razor seems out of place in my hand.

But this is how i've learned to cope. The blade gives me control of my own pain, red score marks count my obscure sorrows, and the shredded pale skin accurately reflects how I feel inside.

Life seems purposeless, hopeless and arbitrary. Maybe it's not worth it anymore...

 

no. No. NO!

 

I am a fighter.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741