You can recover

So I found out cool math games needs a six dollars membership so here's the petition to make it free again cause I am heart broken

https://t.co/y4Ga4Bf4yQ

Okay so this poem has just described my entire life so well, but let me give context. Yes I am lesbian, yes I have dated guys in the past, but no I’m not questioning if I’m really lesbian, just afraid of all the things I’ve ruined because of being lesbian that wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t. Ok here’s your poem: 

And if it turns out I am not 100% gay, 

Who do I ask to forgive me?

What if it turns out I accidentally gave my heart the wrong name?

What if I am to fall in love with a boy after years of being your trademark lesbian friend?

I’m trying to remind myself that redefining my identity does not make me a liar,

But if it does,

Who do I address my apology to?

Do I have to go back into the closet if I already came out of it once?

I used to find empowerment in labels,

Now I feel suffocated by them.

When I was 17 I formed an entire identity around being gay 

And now,

I am worried I will be the butt of your jokes.

You know:

The one about the dyke who just needed a good dick in her?

The boys at school used to cackle at me,

Assuring me they didn’t mind my sexuality as long as they could watch,

How my love only counts when you can click on it,

When you can whistle at it,

When it’s entertaining for you to see it.

Recently my mother told me that if she knew I was going to be gay,

She never would’ve had me in the first place.

This is why I am terrified to be wrong;

To see the smirks on all of their faces 

If I ever do one day wake up like a white flag in a boy’s arms’

Just as everyone suspected I would.

I’ve been hearing that the world is ending. 

I’ve heard it so much these days 

That I can either completely ignore it, 

Or never leave my house again. That is, 

If I ever actually left my house for things that don’t directly enable me to keep my house. 

See, 

I’ve been thinking about driving nowhere. 

I've been thinking about becoming a box inside a locked room inside a dark house at the dark end of the street, 

I wanna go away until I’m gone. 

It takes so much less energy to not exist than it does to exist and get burned. 

I’ve been burned so much I’m not me anymore; 

I’m a stupid puppet version of me. 

I’ve got strings that lead to nowhere, 

Nothing is pulling on me. 

I wish someone would drag my hand out of hiding and sign my name on the dotted line. 

There are days when I can’t find the sun even though it’s right outside my window,

When getting out of bed feels like the key to the Doomsday machine. 

So, 

On those days, 

This is what I tell myself: 

Whatever you’re feeling right now, 

There is a mathematical certainty that someone else is feeling that exact thing.

 This is not to say that you aren’t special; 

This is to say thank God you aren’t special. 

I too have kissed no one goodnight. 

I’ve launched myself from tall places and hoped no one would catch me. 

I’ve ended relationships because suddenly, 

I was also exposed, 

But isolation is not safety. 

It’s death.

 If no one knows you’re alive

You aren't.  

If a tree trunk falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it does make a sound,

But then that sound is gone. 

I’m not saying you’ll find the meaning of life in other people.

I’m saying other people are the life to which you provide the meaning. 

See, 

The wrong may say 

“I think, therefore I am.” 

The more we say it the more it sounds like 

“I think, therefore I will be.” 

You can’t think your way into a full table. 

You can’t think and make walls and a roof appear around you. 

I have thought and thought myself into corners made of words and nightmares, 

But what has it gotten me other than more thoughts; 

A currency that only buys more currency. 

So please, 

If you wanna continue existing, 

Do something. 

Learn to make clouds using only your breath. 

Build a house, 

Even if every wall leans to the left. 

Love it anyway. 

Just like a season. 

Just like a child. 

Love how you hate yourself sometimes, 

'Cause at least there’s still something to hate.  

I know how easy it can be to think and keep thinking until you are the last person on Earth. 

Until the entire world becomes no larger than the space between your bed and the light switch. 

But,

I hear the world’s ending soon. 

When we go, 

We’re all gonna go. 

I will be part of it.

***Author’s note*** As of Sunday, August 29, 2018 I am 88 days clean from self harm. I have never been clean more than 29 days since I started 8 years ago. I’ve been having the urge lately so I wrote this to try to make sense of why I stayed clean.

Dear self harm,

You and I have a love and hate relationship.

I still don’t know if I hate you or not,

But I do hate the hideous scars you have left;

Constant reminders of things I wish I could forget.

You helped me feel when I was numb to the core,

And you helped me create a distraction when I was feeling everything at once. 

I don’t even know whether I should use past tense when I talk about you.

You are 88 days in my past,

Yet I still see you in my future more than anything else.

At the end of the day you were always there when I needed you.

I had people who could've been there too,

But we both know that I’m too scared to bother them. 

You know what,

I do hate you.

Summer,

Dresses for school dances,

Relationships,

Swimming;

All of those things I had to give up because of you.

I didn't get to go on a date with the girl of my dreams because I couldn't find an outfit that you wouldn’t show through.

I hate you because on my rare good days

I look at myself and my scars and I get mad at myself.

I hate you because on my frequent bad days 

I look at myself and my scars and feel nostalgic at the relief you used to provide.

You are such a big part of my life that I don’t feel like myself if I don’t have scars. 

I hate you because every time someone would (and will) ask

“Why would you do this to yourself?”

I could never give a valid explanation.

This wasn’t because I didn’t know why you were here.

But because I can’t sum up my entire life in one sentence.

You are my entire life.

I know I can’t blame you for things that happened before I met you.

I can't even really blame you for most of the things that happened after.

I hate you because as toxic as you are,

You still bring me joy.

But I know that in all reality,

The only light you ever brought into my life was that of a blade at 3 A.M.

I hate you because you represent all my strengths and weaknesses at once.

I know that no one can ever love us both. 

We cannot be a package.

I’m tired of being represented as a twin pack.

I want to be my own person.

I hate you because I know that no matter how many times I say that I’m done with you,

I will always want to go back to you.

You used to make me feel so alive.

But almost three months down the line,

You have left me with scars that will never completely fade.

I know you helped me,

But you did more harm than anything.

And in the end,

I can't hate you.

I can’t hate you because I know that you are a part of my mind,

And I know that this was all my doing,

Even though I’m addressing this to you.

But just because you will always be a part of my mind,

Disclaimer: most of this poem is either written as if the iPhone assistant is speaking. since this was originally spoken word, to make it clear when Siri is speaking I will use Italics. If the words are in quotes they are a message from someone else, if not, they are from the human speaker (Patrick Roche) That being said I hope you enjoy. 

New message from: Mom

“Have a great day, I’ll call you later. Have fun in class. I love you.”

Sending message

Okay.

It’s always like this she sends caring, thoughtful, paragraphs

He speaks like The Hulk

But I know he calls Mom almost everyday, like he just needs to hear her

Then, he hangs up.

New message from: Best Friend

“How are you holding up?”

Typing...

Typing...

Typing...

It’s always like this.

He wants to tell his friends everything.

He hopes they will always be there.

Like family

But not like family

New message from: Mom

“Call me when you get a chance.”

Calling: Mom

Before he hangs up, he does not tell her he loves her.

He does not tell her he is unhappy.

I know that he is.

I have sent the messages.

I have made the calls.

2:00 A.M.

3:00 A.M.

5:00 A.M.

No one makes calls at 5:00 A.M.

Who are you calling at 5:00 A.M?

No one will answer.

No one is awake.

New message from: Best Friend

“I really think you should talk to your family about some of this, or at least your Mom.

Why can’t you?”

Typing...

I’m not myself in my own home.

My family doesn’t actually know me.

They talk to my shadow;

The boy I leave behind.

But I don’t think I need them,

I have the friends I've picked and kept and clung to.

I’m comfortable with them.

I’m not comfortable with my family,

Or I’m just scared to be.

Do you want to send this message?

No.

Deleting message

Sending message: 

I can’t.

I just can’t.

I just can’t call my Mom.

Did you say: “Call Mom?”

No.

Cancelling

Opening Voicemails.

He does not tell anyone

He still has ones from his dead father.

He will not delete them.

He will not delete dead grandparents’ contact information.

He will not delete anything.

He is collecting memories and ghosts.

Would you like me to search the internet for: ghosts?

Ghosts?

Dead?

Haunting?

Not moving on.

Never  moving on.

Never letting go.

He never lets g-

New message from: Best Friend

“Maybe it’s hard to believe,

But everyone does love you.

I mean, your family loves you.

I know your Mom loves you.

Just, don’t forget that okay?”

Calling: Mom.