Scars - 5/26/10

"And our scars remind us,
That the past is real.
I tear my heart open,
Just to feel."

- Scars by Papa Roach

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Im Free

You sit there,
Staring,
Prodding me with your eyes.
I am the specimen
To your experiment of life.
I cant turn and run anymore.
Im trapped,
Held in this position
With the icy glare you give me.
I cant stand it.
The daggers you shoot
Are meant for me and me only.
The sharp points hit me where it hurts,
Right in my heart,
My soul,
My being.
And I only wish you knew.
Though Im sure,
If searched deep enough,
You already do.
The blades are only imaginary,
For I wouldn't survive if they weren't.
But the pain,
The gut wrenching
Heart breaking pain,
Its real.
You've built me from the bottom up,
Only to be the one to knock me down.
You knew my weaknesses,
You put them there.
I was unaware at the time
Foolishly trusting in you.
The emotional pain is too much,
Weaving itself into my life.
It doesn't belong,
Doesn't have a place.
I have to find a way to let it all go.
So I take control,
In the only way I see fit.
You may have daggers,
But they cannot penetrate my body,
Only my composure.
I have weapons though,
And they can break the skin,
Which I make sure they do.
With each pull of the blade
Sliding gracefully across the frosty front
I put up years ago,
I feel the world let go,
Its death grip on my heart and lungs,
Its gone.
Im safe now.
I feel it.
The rush,
It comforts me,
Embraces me,
Like you never would.
Not like you ever could.
The chill of the blade,
It calms me.
It lifts the fog thats formed,
The haze that traps me here.
Im free,
I found the key to this cage,
The one you constructed around me,
So many years ago.
The shape was unusual,
Though familiar.
I found release in the oddest of places.
And it feels good.
You no longer have control.
I do.
And you will never,
Ever,
Get it back.

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If only I could have sent this out to every person whose ever made me feel this way. And 2 months back, this was all true...and some days, I wish it still was. I stopped, but that urge is still there. There are days where all I want to do is just crawl to my bed and drop the walls and give in to the blade. The temptation takes self control to push away. And with all the talk of hurting and the down turn of events in my life, I need this...but then I look at my scars and I have to ask myself if I also need those while Im at it. Its a package deal. Cant get one without the other. And it hurts to know. I gave up bruising myself, I gave up scratching myself, I gave up everything I used to cope. And I found drawing and writing, and yet, its never enough. There's still a tug in my brain telling me that if only I did it one more time...if only.

I just read the book Cut by Patricia McCormick. Oh lord, how I could relate. I cried. I got sick over it. I was shaking. I totally broke down. Hyperventilating, the whole deal. Yet each time I tried to stop reading, I couldn't. 15O pages of mental suffering. I just wanted to know if she got better. If there was hope. That maybe this could get better for me. And in the end, she said the wanting feeling was there. The wanting to get better. And I kinda felt it too. I have a therapist appointment on the 3rd of June. And I think it'll be the most open I've been in awhile. It'll be my last desperate plea for help. And if I don't see the help, then Im just going to be at a loss. I'll pray and hope that it'll get better though. Its all I have left.


-Yours Truly,
Ryanne (: