Afraid Of Being Me

Considering my last post and some of the responses I thought I might put up this poem that I wrote quite some time ago. I should probably point out that this isn't entirely how I feel anymore - I have told people things about me that I used to keep secret (got help) and apart from my recent slip I don't self-harm anymore, for example.

It is me fighting suicidal thoughts. It is me in the early period of my breakdown, just before I went to my own personal version of hell I believe (the worst dip of all dips). I am afraid of ever falling that far again. I'm afraid to push myself because I'm afraid of what I will do if I can't handle it.

And it's kind of relevant to 'Merely Me's' question of the week in the analysis of my past.

Afraid of being me

I tried to scream the other night

I opened my mouth wide in fright

I shook from my head right down to my toes

The terror I felt nobody knows

Even as I fought with myself

And I felt the slipping of my health

I knew that I would not tell a soul

That I alone would have to fill the hole.

The constant inner battle I always fight

Both sides of the fence wielding such a might

The side of me that knows what I must do

How I'd hurt lots of people & destroy my dreams too

And the other side strengthened by my yearning

Telling me I've had enough pleasures and done enough learning

The sparks fly as they clash off of each other

I'd like to go and run for help like a child to its mother

I'm getting so tired of always being this ill

There's no answer in therapy or by taking a pill.

I could talk about me till I'm blue in the face

But it doesn't matter; I've already lost the race

Long ago the people in my life brought me to my knees

Their eyes were closed, their ears ignorant to my pleas

Nobody really meant for me to get hurt

I alone thought their words came out curt.

Still no one can argue that I haven't been through a lot

Although those nearest to me won't be able to tell you what

I fixed my smile in place and pretended everything was fine

Acting but having to figure out my own line

The teasing it stung me but I tried to laugh it off

About as easy for me as trying to stifle a cough

And as I got older so could put up with more

The kids got crueller so as to keep up the score.

I've been spat on enough to have a shower in the stuff

The rumours that were made up, full of all that guff

Shoved over in corridors, landing flat on my back

Pointing out every skill and piece of knowledge I lack

Death threats and nasty letters that would follow me home

And of course the endless prank calls over the phone

The slander and ridicule that makes up my life

Is it any wonder as an adult I've ended up in strife?

I cry all alone in my room endless waterfalls

I don't feel comfortable socialising or making calls

I hurt myself with my bare hands if I can't get to something better

Writing out my problems only in a private letter