Personal Piece- Contains upsetting material - Storms of the Mind

[chopingirl1810]

There is something deep inside of me that is fighting to speak, gasping for air, seeking the light.......it's the urge to harm again and create more scars. This is a daily battle against my own will. The marks from two weeks ago are already healing-strangely, I don't like that. Maybe I didn't go deep enough? When I look down at those scars, I feel they're not substantial. I need more. In a twisted way, I want more scars to show. They are outwards, physical representations of the misery, anger, paranoia, and stress that constantly rackets through my wild mind.

Everyday I'm contemplating whether or not to give in to this fierce urge, to ruin my clean streak yet again, to break my promise and kill these butterflies. This dilemma haunts me relentlessly, and it's difficult to ignore these feelings. My brain is restless with condescending voices: "You know you want to cut" "Just do it" "Who really cares" "Stop lying to yourself" "Anorexic" "Sleaze" "Worthless" "Emo freak" "Dyslexic" "Autistic".. it hurts me to write them out, never mind them already pooling in my head, rushing out to my skull, swelling to the brim, until they finally break through. They cause my ears to bleed with their harsh reality. Now swirling violently in a gruesome tornado outside my body, these words and phrases threaten not only my sanity, but also my life.

I attempt to make an escape, not caring where I go or how I get there, I just run. With every step, the twister grows stronger. As I continue to sprint, it scoops up more debris, more hateful junk--"You don't deserve anything" "Stop trying" "Kill yourself". Safety is not within reach; in every direction I see only the green, whipping grass of the meadow kiss the purplish-black sky at the horizon. This tornado of mind corruption tightens it grip on me, dragging me backwards and preventing me from trudging any further. I painfully realize that I have nowhere to go, no other choice but to give up and allow these demons to control me with a deafening roar. I stumble and fall flat on the ground with my hands cupped around my so fragile ears; the black tornado continues to rumble closer with terrifying power. I lay there, screaming desperately for help, hoping somebody would come to rescue me from this peril. But nobody came. I see no figures, no faces of genuine care or worry. Nothing. My compromised vision can only make out those same evil words as before as the twister rolls directly over me. Minutes feel like hours as I tightly clench onto the ground waiting for the peace. Then suddenly........... it's quiet.

The pressure lifts, the roar dissipates. My eyes slowly reopen to a calm, baby-blue sky mixed with patches of puffy, indigo clouds. Behind me sits the golden Sun, glowing upon the delicate, still, wet wisps of grass and illuminating me into an elongated shadow. Shocked, I warily rise back on my feet to observe this scene. All the while my body feels shaken and rocked with abrasions. I look down at my hands. The palms are blistered, fingers are crampy, and my knuckles are cracked, dry, & bleeding. Still trembling, I take my right hand and gingerly lift up my left sleeve. I find a plethora of red, blue, and purple bruises decorating my entire arm. They nearly cover where my self-harm scars reside. I do the same for the opposite arm finding almost a mirror image. They burned, they ached. My legs were wobbly and sore. My back stung. My stomach cramped. My face was torn, with many strands of wet, long, coarse, dark-brown hair matted to my forehead. I could feel warm streams of blood trickle down the bridge of my nose as well as the left cheek, me inadvertently tasting its saltiness when it reached my cold lips.

Every limb down to the last nerve struck me with an agonizing pain enough to hinder movement. Nonetheless, I found the amazing strength to stand up once more. I sluggishly turned to face the Sun, which now hung low in the Western sky, immediately casting a spell of warmth and comfort upon my wrecked soul. The soggy ground was rid of its moisture. This Sun, it shone so brilliantly, it colored the surrounding sky with fiery reds & oranges nearly burning my eyes. It was because I got up, that I was fortunate to observe such beauty. Instead of letting myself perish, I fought the darkness and turned towards the light. Such a simple achievement brought tears to my eyes, and sure enough I began to cry. The storm was over; I won this battle. More tears fall when I soon feel the gentle touch of hands around my shoulders, on my back, and holding my wounded arms. These multiple entities are my guardian angels, my saviors......they had finally appeared to comfort me in my distress. How thankful I am for their presence, I cannot explain with words. They are the reason I still fight to live each challenging day. And that, above all else, is why I continue my progress, keep my promise, & resist the harming urge.

The road to success isn't always easy, yet definitely worth the effort. When the storm ceases, there will always be a sunset to dream for, and a rainbow to wish on.

[Buttons.]

This is really really good, very vivid, I hope writing it maybe helped you lay some things to rest.

[chopingirl1810]

Thanks :) This did help me release some pent up emotions. I also drew some detailed pictures to go with certain scenes in the piece, maybe I will post those as well.

[Rainbow River]

I feel the same way sometimes. This is very, very good.

[blackbee045]

My eyes slowly reopen to a calm, baby-blue sky mixed with patches of puffy, indigo clouds. Behind me sits the golden Sun, glowing upon the delicate, still, wet wisps of grass and illuminating me into an elongated shadow. Shocked, I warily rise back on my feet to observe this scene. All the while my body feels shaken and rocked with abrasions. I look down at my hands. The palms are blistered, fingers are crampy, and my knuckles are cracked, dry, & bleeding. Still trembling, I take my right hand and gingerly lift up my left sleeve. I find a plethora of red, blue, and purple bruises decorating my entire arm. They nearly cover where my self-harm scars reside. I do the same for the opposite arm finding almost a mirror image. They burned, they ached. My legs were wobbly and sore. My back stung. My stomach cramped. My face was torn, with many strands of wet, long, coarse, dark-brown hair matted to my forehead. I could feel warm streams of blood trickle down the bridge of my nose as well as the left cheek, me inadvertently tasting its saltiness when it reached my cold lips.