I have the write to remain sane.
Anything I say or do can and probably will be used against me at any given time.
I have the write to my own opinion.
If you do not like or accept my opinion, another one will be presented to you.
Do you understand these writes as they’ve been given to you?
I am “the Write to sanity”.
Pleased to meet you.
Have you ever asked God “why?”
Have you ever questioned His existence?
Have you ever screamed out in agony wondering why YOU even exist?
Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?
Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?
Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?
Have you ever tried to wake up hoping it was just a nightmare?
Have you ever sought answers but found none?
Have you ever wondered “why me”?
Have you ever put on a fake smile just so you didn’t have to talk about it?
Have you ever wanted to just start all over?
Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?
Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get in on the good side of life?
Have you ever felt cursed?
Have you ever felt sad and regretted so much of your life?
I have.
My son wrote this before attempting suicide May 7, 2014
I’ve lost my way
I am the one to make this go around,
But I’d still like to be 6 feet under ground.
Children of abuse
One by one they fall like drones
The children of abuse
Can’t you hear their cries
Vitriolic and caustic words
Ingrained into their minds
Silently they sigh
Quietly they go through life
Never telling a soul
Pretending to be shy
Seeking ways to cope in life
alcohol, cutting and drugs
their memories to nullify
Suicidal thoughts prevail
Withdrawal and depression
He took her innocence
Shamed her youth
He calls me “mom”
Hurts worse then a broken tooth
He didn’t stop with just one touch
He kept going back
Had her innocence in his clutch
He calls me “mom”
I hear his voice,
see his face
He’s in my dreams
Through my thoughts he does race
He calls me “mom”
I see his sin
I hear her cries
She calls me “mom”
My soul begins to die
They call me “mom”
My (ex)husband made me cry.
Brought me to tears.
Held me down forcefully.
Dared me to succeed.
Cursed my name, my existence, and the breath I breathed.
He watched me try to commit suicide and did nothing.
He kept me weak.
He was a curse,
a reality that I had no friend or security in him,
EVER.
#comingOutOfTheCloset
EMOTIONLESS
Emotionless I stand
Eyes glazed
Mind dazed
Indifferent I sit
Body cold
Feeling old
Detached I lay
Heart numb
Feeling glum
Distant I remain
Blank stare
Soul spared
Here I lay
Near I sit
In feeling I stand
In passion I will rise
The walls are closing in on me
So fast, their vacuum force is sucking the breath right from my lungs.
I feel trapped.
I feel I can’t breathe.
I feel I can’t move as they get closer and closer.
It’s getting stuffy, almost stifling hot.
The air is thick, and my chest feels heavy.
It’s getting dark, my breaths are shallow.
It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.
I can’t see; there is no light in here.
Total darkness.
They’re moving closer and closer;
I can feel the corners.
It’s pressing on me faster and faster, with increasing urgency.
My arms and legs can’t keep the walls from getting closer.
Trying with all my might, pushing as hard as I can.
I am no match for the strength of these walls.
Walls are supposed to be for our protection
But theses walls are going to be the death of me.
I want to believe I really do,
But trust isn’t something that comes easily
See, everytime guard lets down
My heart gets carried away evilly
I want to trust, I really do,
But trusting means becoming vulnerable
See, if I’m vulnerable, I can be hurt again, and that’s just not tolerable
I want to open up, I really do,
But opening up makes me feel threatened and unguarded
See, feeling threatened and unguarded makes me feel like I’m an open target.
I have trust issues, that’s plain to see
As I work on it, I hope I can be set free.
July 9, 2014
Don’t remind me
You’ve made that clear.
You don’t have to remind me.
I know you don’t want me.
It’s ok.
I accept it.
It took me a long time, but I accept it now.
I’m sorry I held on for so long.
I’m sorry my unwillingness to let go has prolonged the inevitable.
I really am sorry.
Oh, I’m not apologizing to you,
I’m apologizing to myself.
Yoli's Write To Sanity 