I’d walk

Just tell me when

I’d even walk

The great ocean

To you.

~ The Great Ocean, Jenna Anne

Women. I miss the way they smell, feel, taste. The way their bodies curve and how their hair tickles your face when you lay next to each other. I miss the way they always know what you’re thinking and don’t need to speak in order to communicate. I miss the way sex doesn’t matter and kisses mean more than all the daydreams in the world. The way their secrets so trustingly pour from their soul, and how when they cry, it’s a cry wept directly for their heart. Ahh, yes, their hearts. What I miss the most about women? Their hearts.

I have finally realized that there is no recovering from PTSD. No matter how many times I thought I had ‘moved on’ or ‘gotten better’, it’s just never actually… stuck. I always come back to the unending sadness that surrounds my childhood.

Why me? It’s such a cliche and childish question but after all these years of fighting, no other question seems to be the right one. Why did I have to be born to the mother I was? Why did someone have to take advantage of me when I was so young?

I hate this. I hate me, I hate everything that surrounds the person I am. I hate waking up in the morning, I hate looking at myself in the mirror.

I just want someone to tell me they understand. It seems exhausting to be so sad for so long, but I can’t change the way that I feel, and I can’t change what PTSD has done to me.

I slit my wrists this time

I didn’t back out like before

But actually followed through

I’ve taken pills, yes

But never glided a blade into my skin

I’m safe now

Safe to who?

And the scary part

I liked it

The quiet was calming

I’ll do again

I am toxic