This poem is something I put together when I was feeling especially suicidal and hopeless, borderline of an anxiety attack or emotional breakdown. It mentions triggering content like suicide and self-harm. Please exercise great caution and do not read it unless your emotional state is strong enough to do so without being triggered.
How do I talk about being suicidal,
without sound the alarms?
How do I talk about wanting to die,
without bleeding proof along my arms?
How do I talk about loving my family,
while hoping to suffocate simultaneously?
How do I think of a dozen ways to kill myself,
while having the love of others in great wealth?
How do I win the daily battle to end it all,
but still manage to stand so tall,
like all of my battles are so small.
How do I resist the urge to give up,
while simultaneously pushing my luck?
How do I chase after success,
while drowning myself in stress,
making my hunger for death worse,
while also need to win in somewhat,
that it physically hurts.
How do I type these words knowing that someone will read them;
someone will heed them and then plant a seed,
that will eventually grow into a concern that my next will be an urn,
when I would rather be left to my own devices,
to fend off my daily crisis of know that life is just like this.
How can I ask if its fair that I can’t afford to be healthy,
when asking for life to be fair is a sign of weakness and childish selfishness,
blindness that comes with youth and ignorance.
I know that choosing to be well comes with a special kind of hell,
the one where I’m forced to take the quality of life that my loved ones have,
Just for a shred of stable sanity to take a stab at a normal mind,
So that I can possibly, for once, see value in my life.
For all this wanting to cry myself into some dark oblivion,
where I never have to wake again,
I would rather suffer this nightmare until my dying day,
so that nobody I care about would ever have to feel hopeless in this way.
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