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Personal Note:

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Poem

I held a blade to my arm last night,
Like I have many times before. 
But this time ended differently,
Because this time the skin tore.

To others this might look bad,
Like I tossed 4 years down the drain.
Four years of being “sometimes” happy, 
Was clearly driving me insane.

It felt good to hold a blade again, 
Even better to feel it slice.
My emotions had broken through again,
Getting rid of them costs a price.

Although in some ironic way,
The cuts had healed my pain.
I know that I need a better way,
To safely numb my brain.

And that’s that honesty in this,
Recovery is one big mess.
But when everything is said and done,
I’ll marvel at my success.

-A.D.

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