Words Can Heal

If you have read anything on this blog, you already know why I write. I write because I have to. Addiction, cutting, and as this poem will reveal, more than one suicide attempt are stories that now define who I have become. I am still here for a reason and I feel that reason is to share the experiences that I have been through and the emotions that went along with them.

 

This particular story, I have not written about before but in honor of National Suicide Prevention Week, I thought it was time. This is just my story and I am by no means claiming to have all the answers. I am just sharing my experience and that I am glad I am still here. That I have found that in speaking my truth, that there are ears that will hear me.

 

Never stop speaking your truth.

https://soundcloud.com/andreathepoet/words-can-heal

 

 

I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday

but in linear time it’s been close to 15 years.

that night was filled with wanton desperation

a loss of hope, just begging for the pain to end.

there was a fifth of bourbon a bottle of pills

and the chemicals that filled my veins.

there was blood and there was a knife

there was nothing left to save.

 

at 105 lbs. I was walking death

skin hanging off bones.

I was hollow and empty and aching

and days passed endlessly without sleep.

I rambled and scrambled for something to say

anything that would string words end to end.

it was gibberish as I read it back to myself

how could anyone else possibly understand.

I drove for miles to nowhere

in circles, repeating, just to feel myself move.

the stagnant air that surrounded me

was choking me like a fist around my throat.

it was desperate and dangerous

the habits that I kept.

the situations, and surroundings,

nothing about me was safe.

I remember the night

 I lay face down on the floor

a gun pointed

at my head.

fear not, though the dreams

still haunt me now.

I didn’t change the path

or the road I was on.

tearing myself to pieces

from the inside.

wishing ‘an accident’

would make it stop.

 

back to that night

and the pills and the liquor.

back to the prayers

that I made into the dark.

‘if I wake up tomorrow

there has to be a reason

I won’t question again

I will simply live’

for 13 years and change

I kept my promise.

and then one day

it got very dark again.

I cut into the skin

seeking a lifeline.

I bled so hard

that I shouldn’t be here.

 I got on my knees and prayed again

not for a sign this time.

I prayed that I could surrender

and stop trying to fight to win.

 

I woke up a year and a half ago

and put both feet on the floor.

I’ve been walking slowly since then

and sometimes I just have to stop.

simply breathe and listen

to myself and feel the pain.

it never completely goes away

but I’ve learned to call it by name.

I’ve learned that there are words

that will ease the aching.

that there are sounds that will

comfort and heal.

I’ve learned that I know how to make them

that my voice is a powerful tool.

I can speak languages of emotion

that I don’t always know how to feel.

I have learned when I speak the truth

someone always hears.

 

each day when I wake up

I never quite know.

if I will have to fight for my life

or if I can just breathe.

but I know that I can speak

the name of my pain.

I have learned

that words can heal.