I’m bad at relationships.

It’s true.

I suck at showing emotion

And giving attention

And growing close to people like..

You,

I guess.

And when I say “people like you”

I’m just referring to the male species.

No offense.

No offense,

While we’re talking about offense,

Remember the time

She told me I was no good for you.

She told me…

No offense, of course..

That I’m just basically, like, worthless.

I guess…

And then remember when

You sat beside me

With my hand in yours

And you told me

You don’t understand

Why you’re not good enough for me,

And all I could manage to do was stare,

Straight ahead,

As you cried,

And I just thought if I died…

Everything would be okay..

That you’d finally see,

How bad you were hurting me.

Of course,

You were the only one hurting…

You were hurting so bad,

Because you couldn’t understand

Why I couldn’t see

How a guy who was cutting himself

Was just somehow only using me.

And you said he was just looking for attention,

Which, no offense, right?

But was I just looking for attention too?

As I cut into my own skin,

Was I just using you?

But you loved me,

Didn’t you?

You loved me so much…

Everyday you told me such.

You said

“Baby, all I need is you.”

“Why can’t you just need me too?”

And you know…

I knew what it meant to be dating you…

I only had eyes for you…

But as long as I had male friends…

You know what,

I can see where “whore” came from too.

I guess.

Oh,

That brings us here,

This one unforgettable time,

When you called me a whore

And convinced my friends I was one too.

Of course,

No offense was taken,

Because honestly,

What else could I have been to you?

But I’ll never forget the messages that were sent..

“Why do you have to be such a whore.”

From a dear friend.

“Dude, he’s hurting.”

“Why do you have to do this to him?”

With no friends,

And a boyfriend I couldn’t understand,

I had nowhere to put these things,

No way to express my feelings,

Except through the tearing of once

Very beautiful,

Skin.

I mean,

I was only up until 2 In the morning

begging for a breath or a few.

Maybe a friend or two.

Sometimes holding a razor

To cut out whatever made my throat so tight.

But who are we kidding?

Am I right?

I was just a liar,

Just messing with you.

But you loved me,

Didn’t you?

You loved me

so I tried to love you back too.

And I loved as hard as I could,

For as long as my heart would.

I tried to be good enough,

But trying is never enough

For someone like…

You,

I guess.

And when I say someone like you…

I’m not talking about the male species anymore.

I’m talking about someone already broken

And confused

And unsure of how to love an already broken me.

Someone who’s been used

And dumped

And abused

And consumed by thoughts of

Past cheaters

And liars

And whores—

And everything else you said I was being…

I guess.

Not that I should be the one to talk.

I mean,

There’s always a little truth

Behind those nasty words…

Right?

If it stings,

There’s a reason.

I guess.

I mean,

I could be wrong.

I’m wrong all the time.

But you deserve someone

Who can be enough

And give enough

Without feeling paper thin.

You deserve someone strong enough

And loving enough—

Someone who will never leave you feeling…

Unwanted,

Worthless,

Despised,

Useless,

And alien.

You deserve so much more than you gave.

So much more than I was able to give.

You deserve a lifetime of love.

He asks her if she loves him
and all she can do is nod.
He asks her why she chose him
and when she can’t answer,
she’s obviously no more than a fraud.

But–

What he doesn’t know is that
She loves him more than she can ever express
and she chose him for more reasons
that she can ever address.

She loves him with a love so deep
that the bottom of the ocean floor can’t even compete.
She loves him with a love so fierce
that the sharpest knife it never could pierce.

She chose him for the way
his smile lights up her entire day.
She chose him for the pain
he so easily takes away.

She would tell him,
if she had the words
that
Her love will never falter
or break what’s inside of him.
For she knows that he’s special
and he fills her to the brim.

She would tell him,
if she had the words
that
She will choose him over and over again
even when things seem to be grim.
If nothing else,
just because
the showing of her love has yet to begin.

ATTENTION: This is indeed a situation I’ve found myself in, note how I described it as an autobiographical narrative; however, I am no longer dealing with thoughts or situations like this. Just enjoy the read!
———————–

Moriah Kiepke
Mrs. Blanchette
English II, P. 5
April 17, 2018
Autobiographical Narrative

Nobody tells you about the pain life will inflict upon you, or the heartbreak and self hate that may torment you all your waking hours. Nobody tells you about crippling depression or addiction to self harm. Nobody warns you that you’re probably going to be the person that will end up destroying you, and if you’re not, then it’ll be the person you love the most. And they certainly will never tell you that sometimes it’s both. The toughest part of it all, however, is finding the strength to save yourself in the midst of it all– when there is no strength left.

I find myself fighting for everything as I reach a speed of 45 miles an hour. My mind begins wandering, and as my speed increases, insults come just as quick. Why can’t I do anything right? I’m so freaking stupid. I’m at 55 miles an hour five seconds later. Why can’t I be good enough? I don’t belong here. Now I’m going 70 miles an hour in a 65… Would anyone miss me if I was gone? Three more seconds later and I’m at 85 miles an hour with the pedal to the floor… if I just close my eyes.

If I close my eyes and let the car drift in whichever direction it chooses, and I just relax and give into my exhausted body it won’t be suicide. It’ll just be another unfortunate accident. So, I let my droopy eyes close and let my numbness overtake me. I can’t wait until the crash– the moment I finally feel something. Maybe if I don’t die first, the pain will finally wake me up from this exhausting slumber I’m drifing in and out of. Maybe the physical pain will override all this mental pain that just won’t seem to heal. This is my only chance at getting better– this is the only help I need.

I let out a sigh and open my eyes. I didn’t even let enough time pass for me to cross over the mid-line. My helplessness returns, and my calmness fades while my anxiety reboots my heart. I look down at my speedometer and read 102. That’s fast enough to lose control with just a simple jerk to the right, or even better, to the left while a semi is only a few yards ahead. However, I can’t just make myself endanger someone else, so instead I take out my phone and begin texting a friend.

“Hey, thanks for letting me come over.” I type, taking my time and not looking up towards the road until I double check and then triple check my spelling and grammar. You know, just to be sure I don’t make myself sound stupid and illiterate. Once the text is sent, I gently lay my phone on the seat beside me, taking my time to make sure that the ringer is on and that I can easily reach over to pick it back up once I get a text back. I’m oddly disappointed when I look up to find a dead road. I’m alone here, just like everywhere else, and apparently driving dangerously is not my thing– I somehow managed to stay in my lane.

I feel dread rush through every part of my being as I realize I’m almost home now. A black, thick curtain falls on top of me and the suffocation begins. A song comes on the radio that brings back memories of my former boyfriend and now on top of everything else, tears start leaking down my cheeks. I slam my hands down on my steering wheel and sob, wanting nothing more than an end to this aching in my bones. My heart races and my breaths become short and sporatic making me light headed. I want to die.

God, please let me die.

Let me die.

Please, just let me die.

I hear my phone ding as a text comes in, and this time, I make sure to drive myself into the middle of the road, pedal to the floor, gaining speed at 110 miles an hour before I pick up my phone. There’s no way I’m messing this up again.

“Of course! You’re welcome anytime!” The text reads. And then another one comes in right after:

“Put your phone down while you’re driving. :)”

I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this. I start to steer with my elbows, still in the middle of the road, as I text back.

“Texting and driving at 120 miles an hour isn’t dangerous is it? Haha.”

Part of me hopes that this friend of mine will call me– will call me and calm me down. Another part of me worries that they’ll take things to another level and call my parents instead. The thought of my parents hearing about this makes me heart stop dead in it’s tracks. I don’t need their nagging and worry on top of everything else.

“Slow down!” The next text reads.

“I think I’m good actually.” I send back. “Don’t worry though. I’ll be fine.”

In anger I throw my phone on the floor. Angry at myself. Angry at the fact that that’s all my friend has to say. Angry that they didn’t even realize that this was me telling them that I’m struggling. Angry at the whole world for damning me.

But mostly. I’m just tired.

I slowly get back into my lane and decrease my speed. I set my cruise at 65 miles an hour until I turn on my street.

I pull into my driveway.

I’m numb.

I turn off the engine.

I’m tired.

I walk into the house.

I want to die.

My parents say hi.

I smile as wide as I can and I make sure to make everyone laugh.

I’m okay.