“I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.” JD Butler
1.
Most days I want to die.
My heart breaks
over the most
stupidest of things.
My thoughts tell me I am not
strong enough
pretty enough
skinny enough
feminine enough
kind enough
friendly enough
sexy enough
compassionate enough
caring enough or
rich enough.
My brain tells me I’m too
moody
angry
sad
depressed
anxious
ugly
scared
fragile
emotional
weak
unpredictable
unstable
flighty
and fickle.
My brain tells me to think
the worst of every situation, interpret every thing as an
attack
snide remark
slur
corner
lie
deception or
ulterior motive.
I really shouldn’t take things so personally.
Others think I’m too
Sexual
Slutty
Useing
Abusing
Needy and
Crazy.
I guess
that’s why he told me I have no friends.
Most days I can’t stand it any more.
I’m too much of every thing or not enough.
I wish I was never born.
/
I’m ok on a good day, but I struggle. Demons,
in my waking hours, have a go at me for every-little-thing that ever was.
How, do I continue to survive?
Most days, I just want to die.
2.
Some days I feel happy.
content
pleased
proud
relaxed
calm
and secure.
I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.
And I think about what else I want to do.
Paint
draw
read
make
sculpt
weld
and create.
Money holds me back so I continue watering the garden.
Some days I feel optimistic.
I am convinced I’m going to get that job,
find that financial independence,
not go back to sex work although I miss it terribly.
Some days I don’t think about
pain
loss
fear
humiliation
rejection
or torment.
I’m numb, but at least I’ve stopped
shaking in my boots,
jumping all over the place,
looking around every 5 fucking seconds
or wanting to run.
Some days I feel hope that I won’t
take my life
end up on the streets
be alone and lonely
have no friends
have no lover
or find love.
Whats wrong with me?
I live with trauma, fuck up daily and behave like a bitch –
and I dont think I can be fixed
sometimes.
Some days I’m OK.
I smile
laugh
joke
play
make love
not war.
I try not to let the voices win. I try to
bite my tongue
shut my mouth
hold back tears
try my best
please my man
and stop complaining.
I try not to wait for the end, although I push everyone away – my deluded saving grace
is more likely cutting off my nose, to spite my face.
Some days I think I will survive.
But most days, I still want to die.