Meds

Stopped taking my meds two months ago
Guess you could say i missed feeling low
1000 voices in my head that hate myself
Then I make shit decisions and fuck my mental health
Still wish I was unstable and got drunk just to feel
Happier when I’m questioning whether I’m really real
What’s the point of paying 50 quid for therapy
When I’m much better being sad like I’ve always been
Would rather want to kill myself than improve myself, not much good for my mental health
My therapist is gonna lose it when she hears this
At least death has some finality
Bit I’ve made depression my whole personality, not ready to face the reality
Now it’s difficult to separate depression from me and even worse when I cant seem to break free of the misery that this life seems to be.
So when the reaper comes calling and puts an end to my endless falling
I hope that you can see that you made me happy but that happiness is not the be all amd end all when the rest of your life is so crappy.
Now that I can maybe find some peace in deaths sweet release. Just tell me you won’t mourn the deceased like you hurt the living.

Sad one from a whole ago

– Hope

Relapse

I relapsed last month. Three years of progress reversed in one night. Now relapses occur every other week. I’m not even ashamed. Sometimes I think I deserve this, to never get better. For now, I’m counting the days since I last relapsed in single digits. I’m back on 0, wondering if I’ll ever make it past this.

Daydreams

Daydreaming of happiness. Thinking of someone who likes me, of a functional friendship. Pining for a bit of love rather than jealously, rejection bitter enough to make you cringe. Doodling away the need to carve regret into my skin, making art from the tug and pull. Imagining the taste of your lips or someone else’s, ignoring the guilt building somewhere inside, threatening to swallow me whole. I want to hurt, I want my life to fall apart at the blow of your words. I’m begging for pity, for pain. Waiting for you to take the final shot. Waiting for the world to end. Always waiting, counting, running. Tick tock, tick tock, the bomb is active, the fuse is lit. Tread carefully.

I want him and her and love. I want care not you. I want you as far away as possible and I always fall back into your arms. Pretending I have the upper hand, I’m breaking your heart. But everytime you watch my tears with your fingers in my mouth a part of me dies. Won’t give you the satisfaction of anything more, but this is enough. The only thing I’m good at huh?

Maybe him but I’m scared, I don’t want to lose myself, I don’t want to do that, I’m not ready. I’m scared. I hate the commitment, the pressure, let’s see how this one goes.

-Hope x

Bruises

Sometimes we’re hurt so deeply the scars last after even the purple marred bruise fades. Words scrape at raw skin and tears flow down a pallid face. Physical forms of bruises last a limited time, mental bruises last a life time. Each cruel snarl and each careless remark paint a new patch on the cluster of gruesome blacks and blues. But no one can see them. Invisible. Essentially, to some people, totally irrelevant. A sufferer of emotional abuse, littered with hastily covered scars, in the same way a sufferer if physical abuse is slowly destroyed. Camouflaged under a layer of “I’m fine”, underneath the smooth skin, under the boned prison- ragged pain, mauled hurt. Words like bullets shattering a heart, tearing through flesh- invisible. Bruises are limited, bruises never lie. People do. Some bruises are invisible. Some smiles are fake.

-Hope xx

Based off the song Bruises by Transviolet