Oh, Those Are Emotions

And most of them have trigger warnings, but I can’t be sure if I labelled them all right, so tell me if there’s anything else I should add.

When I was younger,

My mother tried to talk me out of anti-depressants.

She told me that it took away the lows,

But also the highs.

I knew she spoke from experience,

But not mine.

What she didn’t seem to understand

Was that I am just as scared of being happy,

Because every time it just hurts more

to reach that low again.

I don’t want to be happy,

You’ll say you’re scared

My life won’t be easy,

But you’re the one making it that way.

You’re so scared of me tripping,

That you’re placing the hurdles yourself.

How is it fair?

How is it fair?

Let me struggle against something

Without a face.

Let me suffer by a hand not yours,

I know I look nothing like you,

But I can only see me through your eyes.

I have your grandma’s nose,

And you don’t recognise my eyes.

And when you say I look beautiful,

What I mean to say is: if it were me on the train tracks, would that change your answer? Would you throw away your moral bargaining just this once and choose me?

I don’t blame you if you can’t. I wouldn’t either. I don’t think I am worth 5 lives. Sometimes I doubt I’m worth 1.

I hate thinking of the most basic concepts,

That hold too much weight.

Because how do I say,

In the simplest terms

‘I miss playing music’

When what I really mean is:

‘I miss being able to sing

Like I thought I was good

(Even if I knew I wasn’t)

Like I could before my mother and father

And my sister taught me not to.’

‘I miss playing the guitar

And I only gave it up when I moved schools

When my parents divorced

And I tried to convince myself

It was my only choice,

But it was just because I was falling behind

And I couldn’t deal with not being good.’

How do I tell people in better words:

‘I miss making music without noticing

I am like the note you write on your hand

At night

That you forget

And is washed off by morning.

I exist simply so you do not forget me.

And yet, you do.

What am I,

If not remembered by you?

I am nothing.

Please just remember me.

I am nothing.

I will be your reminder.

I am nothing.

Do not let me forget myself:

I am nothing.

I exist.

My relationship with my sister

Has always been complex.

Our parents pitted us against each other.

I learnt that she hated me,

When I now know that was a lie.

But now, I’m reading through things

That I wrote about her as a child.

How come I knew she loved me then,

And yet I still doubt it now?

But I guess, to quote a younger me:

‘I love her so so much,

She loves me too.’

It’s so strange when you get to a point where you turn to someone you love and you see in them everything you hate about yourself. And yet, somehow, you don’t love them any less.

I used to use the draft of my suicide note

That I wrote when I was 13

as a bookmark.

I’ll type out my apologies,

But they’ll never send.

Because you know me so well,

And you know they’re coming from a different place.

And I wanna tell you I love you out of nowhere,

But I’m scared you’d be scared for me.

The sort of confessions you make

on your last breath

Are the sort I wanna give you anyway.

I want to leave you notes,

Not that kind,

Not goodbye.

But I get you’d see it and presume.

I know my own history,

Or at least I know enough to know,

It shouldn’t mean this much to me.

But you said you were proud of me,

And I swear my heart skipped a beat.

And you say you’ve known me long enough,

Sat on my bathroom floor,

Stained by the blood of my youth.

Out damn spot, I’ll scream to myself.

But maybe the blood is just

And in that moment,

Time slowed down,

But so did I.

And once the moment passed,

You were gone,

Without waiting for my response.

A confession of one part,

An old pair of necklaces,

Separated by two hearts.

An old photo of a moment,

I cannot quite remember.

It’s in the memories,

Or even the lack of them.

It’s in every what if,

And every prayer I have sent.

I hope you have the best life.

I hope you’re nothing without me.

I hope you wonder,

And that I’ve never crossed your mind.

I hope I’ll see you again,

But I hope I won’t recognise you.

One pillar on the banister on you hallway broke years ago. I don’t remember how. No matter how much glue you put in it, it just won’t stick. So it’s just balanced there at all times.

And I know its there and I know it’s broken, and yet I so frequently stumble into it and make it fall over. I don’t want to. I get so anxious I will every time I walk past it.

But some times my bag will brush it and I walk past and there will be a pause before I hear it clatter down the stairs and into the floor. It’s never broken more - just the same as it was before. But then I have to take the time to retrieve it and put it back and know it will not stay like that.

How many things in our lives do we know are broken, but we carelessly walk past anyway? How many things to we get so scared of breaking, that we become more focused on the chore of fixing it than on the actual break itself? How many things do we break in the same way each time and not care?

I was taught to use everything I could.

We’d use the fancy cutlery,

For our everyday.

I’d never take out a sick day,

Unless I couldn’t walk.

I’m so used to pushing it.

So used to being scared of the waste.

I’ll stare at the wall,

Just to think.

And I’m scared I’m wasting my life.

I wear my mother’s 18th birthday pearls,

Because they’re pretty.

I’ll wear the family jewels,

Because they deserve to be seen.

I’ll horde things I hate,

Because what if I change my mind?

I won’t let you go,