trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, detachment, disgust, mention of needles
i’m not sure what to call this.
when you think about it your stomach is gonna feel like a tin can. like where-the-hell-did-my-heart-go-again. like metal. like slam against the wall after you’ve been running down a hill for a decade thinking there was no end in sight metal. i can’t believe you when you say i love you. metal. you’re not gonna be able to write so your fingers will feel like paper machê streamers dangling from your hands. like wind chimes, tinkling in the breeze, beautiful but useless dead skeletons we bury in our chests because they remind us too much of the things that used to be. your brain is going to freeze. your brain is gonna empty out like a teapot that didn’t realize what it means to have nothing left until this moment this moment it’s been chasing after its whole lifetime. your brain is gonna feel like a cardboard box flattened on the side of the curb with the drawings still on it. the drawings we did. you’re gonna be feeling your heart thump in your chest a little louder than before. just a little. somehow reminds you of all the times you let every shadow under your eyes every bone in your body stick out on end. you let in all the thoughts in like wolves that had been at the door telling you have to dinner for a long time. you let them inject lies into you needle after needle until you feel like you’ve been bathing in bleach in order to get all the colour out of you and you hate your mind for being this way for ripping down walls like they can just be rebuilt in a minute they can be rebuilt but it’s not that easy. all the eerie details are gonna file into your head like suspects for a crime except i don’t remember what the crime was so i’m standing here realizing. i’m a failure. by eerie details i mean things like how do you know you’re real? how do i know other people see the same colours i do? why should i care i don’t have to? most of the world will feel like it’s melting in your hands. and everything flickers, on. off. on. off. black. white. black. white. the letters are really just strange squiggles. and the pictures of the stars on your bedroom walls are just paintings of little white pixels it’s meaningless. you’re going to realize that all the highways we trample over every single day are just a disguise for pain and you either become the side that says stop and the side that says grow up or the side that runs away. you’re going to realize that time is a current, sweeping you away scouring all the paint off your skin that you wore just because you wanted to feel different and now whatever’s left—whatever this is—it’s quiet, for a moment. and it’s alive but it’s alive in a way that makes all the bones in your body ache. it’s alive in the way a haunted house is, rustling with the ghosts that tell you everything you don’t want to hear about yourself and then say the truth hurts so therefore this is the truth. so therefore it’s not anything. so therefore you should walk on the pieces of broken glass that don’t have to hurt and keep going. your heart is going to scream no and you’ll say yes anyhow because you are a machine today and in this second all you know is how to go and your heart feels like a cauldron where they make poison starting to bubble over this is nothing this is where the numbness seeps in. the kind of numbness where the layers of your personality attack each other until i don’t completely recognize who i am in the mirror. you’re going to want to cast all of this away. you’re going to want to scratch at the scars scattered across you like they can just be ripped away like they’re just dollar store stickers you plastered yourself with because you’re lovable this way. living feels disgusting when it touches you. resting feels disgusting when it touches you. your skin feels disgusting when it touches you. love feels disgusting when it touched you. everything feels disgusting when it touches you. i want to run away. and why does life even get the right to touch you anymore when it’s hurt you a thousand times in a row a thousand little blows a monster laughing as it sets me on fire only to blow me out like a birthday candle and kiss me goodnight flicking off the light why does life get to get away with murder? why does my life matter? why do my feelings matter? why can’t i just not care anymore? you’re going to stare at the ceiling your face slack like a rope about to let them fall. this is when i tell you to carry on. even though i feel like a feather slipping out of my own palm. you’re going to spend an hour staring at the dirt in your front yard kicking up the dust until you can’t breathe anymore. you’re going to wobble on shaky legs around the living room this hard fog rising up in your throat and nothing they’ve said can reach you. i am driving myself off this deep end i think it’s because i don’t know what else to do. the thing about nightmares most people forget is that sometimes, they do come true, and when they do, that’s when i hate you. my body feels like a candy wrapper i can just toss away. you won’t have a bathing suit on when you jump. when you fall into the cold your cotton clothes dragging behind you. and you’re not gonna be sure, but you think maybe if you dive down far enough down into the coral and the black hole, you’ll find your heart. your stomach. your lungs. your soul.
keywords: poetry about mental health, poetry, numbness, disassociation, writer, writing, panic attack, poetry about anxiety, poetry about having a panic attack, poetry about numbness