trigger warning: suicidal thoughts mention, self-harm mention, general heavy content. need to talk to anyone? crisis lines are here.
fingers digging into my palms. why do i fantasize about self-harm so much, even on a good day?
why am i weak like this? why did i cut myself again, digging one more tally mark into the row of scars on my broken skin?
and why don’t you fucking get it? no matter how loud i scream. no matter how well i try to explain it. why aren’t you concerned? i just… i don’t get it.
and why… am… i… so… exhausted?
Hey guys. I just wanted to say that, well, this is a vent poem. Basically, I’ve been having a lot of bad days of late, and… yeah. But that doesn’t make any of the thoughts in it true, and I know I’ve said this before, but I feel like it’s important to say again. You’re not a bad person for struggling. You’re not alone, even if you feel like it. Suicide and self-harm aren’t solutions. But at the same time, expressing those feelings is, to me, incredibly important in terms of processing them and dealing with them in a healthy way. So please, if this poem hits close to home with you, reach out. Talk to someone you trust–a parent, a teacher, a friend, a counsellor. Just the fact that you related to this poem is a sign that you’re not the only one who feels this way. And please, hang in there. I promise that someday, someday, we’re not going to feel this way.