Survivor’s Guilt (Or Lack Thereof)

If someone were to ask me  to count each individual time I wanted to kill myself

It would be one finger

Because when you no longer want to live

You can’t turn it on and off like a light switch

It’s more like the moon cycle

Ever changing in severity

Ever changing in your plan to end your existence

At the height of my depression I had at lest 3 different plans

Which is impressive for a 14 year old

Being perpetually sad leaves its marks

There are still shards of glass living in my skin where I would perform surgery on myself

There are still splinters in my heart

And some days those splinters make my heart heavy enough to sink to my feet

My hands are still cold as stone from the night I shattered

Because I used the stitches from mending myself =

To mend someone else

People often ask how I’ve changed since then

And most times I struggle to find an answer

Truth be told I still loathe myself as much as I did then

And some nights the darkness creeps back in

To the point where I would set my bones on fire to warm myself back up

But I have more days that smiling doesn’t take any effort

I laugh until my lungs struggle l to find air as my laughs turn into wheezes

And I look in the  mirror proud to be alive

Proud of who I am


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