I remember the day I tried to die.

The feeling of the blood flowing out of my veins no longer calmed me,

The pain from the blade no longer distracted me,

It didn’t make me feel a damn thing,

It just hurt.

I no longer wanted to feel the sting,

I could no longer bear to see

The worry lines on the faces of my friends,

And the ignorant smiles of my family.

 

If I cannot find a way to cope,

If I cannot bleed out the darkness,

Then I no longer want to try.

Why should I just wait

For the emptiness to consume me,

For the flames to burn me alive?

There is no point,

No reason,

And I can’t lie and tell you that I am okay

When I am so clearly not.

 

I remember putting the knife up to my wrist,

For the first time in my life thinking clearly.

All it would take was one cut,

One long, deep, vertical cut,

And I could finally allow myself to succumb to the peacefulness

Of true, imminent darkness,

To embody my true inner tragedy.

But you,

You read through my message,

You begged me to stay,

Promised to make it all okay,

And I let myself die without the blade,

Die by continuing to walk,

To breathe,

To live.

 

I promised recovery-

I would get better,

I would stay alive,

I would stop hurting myself,

But what use are promises when you know you can’t keep them?

Just because I put the knife away,

Doesn’t mean that I am okay.

Just because I told you my soul would stay clean,

Doesn’t mean I can’t bleed in secrecy.

Just because I said I wanted to live,

Doesn’t mean that I will.

 

Maybe this is just it-

Maybe this is just me.

I can’t ever get better,

I can’t make myself stable,

Balance out my faulty chemicals.

I know that you asked me to stay,

But I don’t think that I want to,

I don’t think that I’m able to,

And I’m sorry that I made you try.

 

I promised you I would get better,

And I’m not better,

But maybe-

Just maybe-

This torture can be followed by some sort of recovery.