Wrong

This is a poem written long ago, during one of many Dark Nights of the Soul. Nights in which I felt and believed, I could do no right, no support was accessible for me, and felt eternally trapped in my life. It speaks of trauma, past and present, and illuminates the thought processes of those who suffer emotional, mental, physical, and sexual traumas standing on the edge of giving up. It talks about a simple thing creating a change, hope, and relief. It is a harbinger of pain, and a reminder of unseen sources of hope.

I share with you all today, in the hopes that you understand that you are not alone, there is always hope, nothing says you cannot remove yourself from the relationship or situation you are in. YOU ARE WORTH FIGHTING FOR!

If you are struggling at this time or have struggled in the past with mental health and/or suicidal thoughts and tendencies, I strongly encourage you to reach out to someone for help. There are a multitude of resources you may use, online, via anonymous phone calls, and even within your life, though you may not realize it. You are not alone, there are people ready and able to help, and you can overcome it.

Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Suicide Prevention Online Chat: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Image courtesy of: Andrew Bazanov (bazandr) Profile / 500px

Wrong, sometimes things feel wrong –

I don’t understand why, I lack knowledge of the source.

I wish it would go away, disappear as suddenly as it appeared.

It lingers like a haze of smoke around me,

cajoling my belief in myself with lies laced with violence,

stubbornly refusing to soar away with the wind.

Like Atlas, I am trapped under this weight,

the weight of my world.

Today, in every moment, I feel wrong –

everything around me feels wrong.

Every look, every expression, every avoided eye,

as though everyone else can sense my incongruence.

Knots form in my stomach, tears well in my eyes,

I yearn for someone to see, to reach out and connect, even for a moment.

Right now, everything in the world is wrong –

I don’t know why, though I wish I did,

I stand alone on the edge of a precipice.

An unseen hand nudges me closer, my toes curl over the brink,

there’s no looking back, no moving from side to side, only out and down,

sink or swim, soar high or crash down into the endless abyss.

Blade in hand, my breathing accelerates,

my pulse rapidly flying as vacillation grips my soul.

Sink or swim? Shall I simply relinquish?

Would it matter to anyone other than me?

Questions soaring, whispered with malice and contempt,

a voice not of my own, manipulating, gaslighting,

pushing deeper and deeper.

My resolve is breaking, blade dropping,

There’s still the edge, still a way out, the voice whispers for the last time.

I am about to be pushed. I am about to falter and plummet –

A change is coming; I feel it on the wind.

Perhaps I will change with it, or perhaps it will blow by.

I can’t discern the wind’s intention; does it mean to help or harm?

Everything calms, my hair no longer whips around my head.

Electricity, potential, anticipation quivers in the air, my heart skips a beat.

Right now, there is palpable possibility in everything around –

The wind is now changing, shifting, warming; colors once dim sharpen,

Everywhere I turn, the world is loosening, brightening,

Like drab, ecru branches in winter budding with new life in spring.

New life, new hope blooms deep inside, perhaps it is possible,

I will change and things will soon become –

Right.

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