My Reality.

Is feeling like I’m a normal fucking

human being one moment and 

thirty minutes later finding myself

cutting my legs and arms while 

sitting in a bathtub. 

It’s forcing myself to not 

overdose on my sleeping pills,

to not open the second story window 

and fly to the ground. 

My reality is hiding my suicidal 

thoughts with tequila and 

lots of irresponsible sex.

Spreading my legs so I

don’t have to spread open 

my knife against my fucking throat.

It’s wearing a sweater in 85 degree

weather because my arms are covered

in fresh gashes because no one wants

to see that shit. No one wants to deal

with the harsh reality. No one wants

to deal with real life problems. 

Maybe I just wanted to feel 

something other than pain for once;

to feel something other than the

memories of my ex violently raping

me 8-10 times a day, or choking

me so hard I developed a fucked

up fetish of wanting to die while 

having sex because that’s the 

kind of shit I’m into.

As fucked up as I sound,

I love the feeling of the 

blade being dragged against my 

skin, leaving a trail of blood

to run down my legs. 

As fucked up as it sounds, 

I love how it lets me escape

reality.

Escape the memories. 

Escape myself. 

Escape my suicidal thoughts.

To just feel something. 

Anything. Just fucking anything. 

To make the pain disappear for

once in my god damn life. 

To feel fucking normal. 

To not feel like a walking zombie. 

Who knew being normal could be so fucking difficult. 

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