Upon Reflection

“If I told you my story would you run away or pull me closer?”

And I wonder what the normal people think about when their lips go all quiet and their eyes pull in. Do they think about their crushes, about their friends they will see, about what they'll have for dinner. And then there is me. I think about the blades and the ropes and the bridges. I think about the bleeding and the hanging and the falling. I think about death. I think about peace

That's just the thing about hope. It's lethal. Because every spark of "what if?" will always be answered with "not today"

I'm the kind of tired sleep will never fix.

But today has been better and I actually miss the pain, I'm only a few feet from the edge, but I can't bring my self to look down, to say 'goodbye', to say 'I'm sorry I can't do this anymore', because something inside of me keeps yelling 'no!' yelling 'stay just another day. You will make it through this. You are here for a reason'. But I don't believe in a reason or fate or predestined paths. I believe atoms and molecules and coincidences. I believe that there are a million civilizations in the universe. I believe that none of us are special, that people move on, that no one is going to change the world or be missed by the masses, that disappearing is easy. So letting go should be easy. I want to soar off the edge of the world, plummet into a pool of oblivion, but something keeps telling me, stay, don't go, you have value, have a purpose, but when I look in the mirror I see worthless-ness and so I stand here planted only inches from the edge just waiting to let go.

I promise, I'm trying to be okay. But, I just don't want to be here anymore, and I don't know how I'm supposed to keep going.

Isn’t it scary that all you need is a nice outfit, bright smile, and the words ‘no really, I’m fine’ to make everyone think you don’t want to die?

I wanted to lean in and kiss her, but I was so scared that maybe I would like it too much, and I would remember how much it hurts to be alone.

I pay no attention to the small things in your appearance. I struggle to notice that you got a haircut yesterday, or that you’re wearing new shoes, and I know that drives you crazy. But love, when I look at you I see the rest of my life laid out in front of me. I see late night phone conversations in college, IKEA trips, and moving trucks. I see making breakfast naked and 2am giggle fests. I see never getting enough time with you. When I look at you I see my wedding day (….and my wedding night). I see lots of fights, and lots of mind- blowing makeup sex. I see baby bumps, and first days of school, and children’s graduations. I see old age and rocking chairs, and there just never being enough time with you. So I'm sorry I didn't notice your new shoes, you see I'm just a bit distracted.

There's a distinct difference between wanting to die and being ready to die. Wanting to die stems from a life of inadequacy, a constant longing to move time a long. Where as being ready to die comes from the understanding that we have no control over the time we get to spend on earth so we must live each moment as if it were our last.

You don’t get to just sit there, putting everyone’s life before your own and think that qualifies as love

When we die there will be two dates written on our tombstones. Our birthday and day of death. They are the only two moments that are guaranteed to us. But that dash, that dash in between those two dates, well that's up to us to make something of it.

How can I blame you for walking away? Even I cannot look in the mirror and tell you one thing that makes me worth it. I would have left too.

Don’t you see? I died long before my heart stopped beating

There was a girl named Devin, When she was born her father looked at her and saw perfection, So that is what he called her. Every day he would come home and hold her in his arms just to marvel at her beauty. She would fall asleep knowing that her father loved her so. When she was four her father called her princess, Because he thought of her as royalty, So that is what he called her. When they played, She would be the princess, her father the prince and he would rescue her from the dog named dragon. And at night when she woke in fear, Yelling that the dragons would get her, Her father would come in and hold her close, And she would fall asleep knowing that she would always be safe. When she was seven the neighborhood boys called her gross, Because they thought she had cooties, So that is what they called her. When she wanted to play they would tell her no, And she would run home with tears in her eyes. When she got home to her father, He would hold her and whisper in her ear, Saying ‘boys will be boys, they just really like you’. So she fell asleep easy that night, Knowing that people thought she was beautiful, When she was 10 the boys at school called her fat, Because she had more curves than the other girls, So that is what they called her. She would go home each night, Without a tear in her eye, Because she knew they were just being boys. When she got home her father wasn’t there, So she went to the bathroom and held herself, Squeezing and squishing, trying to look like the other girls. And when it was time to go to bed that night, She had to put a pillow over her ears, To drown out the sounds of her father yelling. When she was 13 her boyfriend called her beautiful, Because he loved her curves, So that is what he called her. When she would come over to his house, He would kiss her, And she would kiss him back, Because she wanted him to love her. But when he tried to touch her she would yell no, And the boy didn’t like that, So he held her down and did it anyway. Eventually she stopped fighting him off her, For she saw her mom do this before, And she thought this is how you love a man, And when she finally got to bed that night, She felt to empty to sleep, Because something from her was missing, And she didn’t give it away. When she was 16 she called herself lonely, Because she spent a lot of time by herself, So that is what she called herself. She didn’t do as well in school, The boys didn’t come around anymore, And the kids at school gave her sideways glances because they heard what she did last year. And when she came home at night, Her father was in another family, she tucked her mother into bed And put the bottle on the shelf. And found her way to bed. And she would sit there holding herself tight, Hoping that she could keep herself together. But she wouldn’t fall asleep at night, Because the roaring dragons would be too loud And no one was there to protect her. When she was 19 they called her dead, Because she was buried breathless, somewhere underground, So that is what they called her. Because one night she came home to an empty house, And a loaded gun. The yelling voices in her head were giving her a headache, And all she wanted to do was make it stop. She held the gun to her head, And she went to sleep that night with the sound of a gunshot echoing through an empty name.

But darling don't you see, you don't need to sacrifice yourself just to be loved. You are surrounded by people who love you, if you would only let them.