anxiety · anxiety awareness · depression · fight · mental disorder · mental health · prose · Self Harm · Self Harm Awarness · Suicide · Suicide prevention · Uncategorized · World · Writing

Contemplations of a Traumatized Soul

Let me hang md5d2ae890839e285696f620e22833c09yself from the ceiling fan and let me wait to see who comes to help. Let me see who would stand and watch and who would try to get me down. Let me see if I’m brave enough to let it happen, or if I’m brave enough to save myself. Let me see and I’ll have answers.

The blood that runs under my veins wants to be released. The pressure of being held in for so long threatens my existence. It is like me, feeling confined and wants escape. Let me see if it succumbs to the pain like I have for so many years, or if it finds a way out. Let me see and I’ll have answers.

My eyes want to gouge themselves out; my eyes that have seen everything; both good and bad. My eyes that sometimes wish to unsee things, wish to forget what they’ve seen, experienced. But the memories are etched in within, haunting, always there to pounce. My eyes want to close, and close forever. Will they learn to forget and move on, or will they like me, wish everyday they didn’t exist? Let me see and I’ll have answers.

The pounding in my head grows louder by the second. The screaming inside continues in vain. My brain is lost in there somewhere, trying to find a way out. Like me, wanting to soar. Horrific sounds fill my head as it constantly relives what it holds, what it remembers so vividly. The cords of it unwind and rewind, trying to decide whether to continue or whether to give in and surrender, let itself escape from the confinements, completely lose itself. I wait and see whether it will, for my sake, continue like it has for so long; or if it will finally break down completely. Let me see and I’ll have answers.

My wrists throb, my eyes cry, my hair pull, the remnants of me, reliving, seeing, traumatized for so long. Every body part begs for me to let them free, to a better world, to a better me. A me that doesn’t exist anymore.

 

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