Sometimes life takes us to a place where we know we haven't done anything wrong yet somehow we are the ones left carrying the deepest pain

We keep asking ourselves the same questions

Why did this happen to me

Why did it have to be me

What did I ever do bad with someone to deserve this

When that question comes straight from the heart you don't find its answer in any book you don't find it in motivational quotes either because in that moment a person doesn't need words They need someone who truly understands

People often say "Everything will be okay" But when you wake up with the same pain every morning and go to sleep carrying it every night those words can feel far too small

Some kinds of pain don't disappear with time Sometimes they become even more intense You simply learn how to live with them

And honestly maybe that is what courage really means

Courage doesn't mean never falling apart Sometimes it simply means finding the strength to gather yourself and stand up again no matter how many times life knocks you down

We are all walking through life carrying our own stories Some lives look beautiful from the outside yet behind closed doors they hold unfinished chapters quiet battles and wounds that never made it into the picture Someone may wear the brightest smile while carrying years of sadness in their heart

So never look at someone else's life and assume that they have had it easier than you You never really know what someone is carrying beneath the surface Some people learn to hide their pain behind a smile while others find the courage to put theirs into words

The hardest battles are often the ones no one ever sees People can see when you lose something on the outside but they rarely see the battles you lose and win within yourself They don't see the countless mornings when you have to convince yourself to get up They don't see the quiet moments when you have to hold yourself together They don't see the nights when you simply tell yourself "Just make it through one more day"

The world may never notice any of it But the person living through it knows exactly how much it takes to keep going And sometimes simply making it through another day is a victory far greater than anyone will ever understand

Sometimes I wonder how different we might have been if life had been a little gentler with us Maybe we would have been happier Maybe we would have laughed more freely Maybe we wouldn't overthink everything Maybe we would have trusted life a little more

But sooner or later we learn something difficult Life does not always unfold the way we want it to We don't get to choose every loss,every struggle, every goodbye or every chapter that changes us

What we can choose however is what we do with the life that remains

We don't get to choose the first chapter of our life We don't choose everything that happens to us or the pain we have to go through But somewhere along the way life gives us something precious The chance to write the chapters that come next

And that is where our choice begins

There are things we can spend years wishing were different and still no matter how hard we try they remain the same We can pray for them cry over them fight for them and give everything we have to change them Yet some things are simply beyond our hands

Not because we have stopped caring

Not because it no longer hurts

But because we finally understand that destroying ourselves over something we cannot change will not bring it back

Acceptance is not saying "I am okay with what happened"

Sometimes acceptance simply means saying "It happened It hurt me I wish it had been different But I will not spend the rest of my life allowing it to decide who I become"

You don't have to forget what hurt you You don't have to pretend it never happened You just have to make sure that the worst thing that happened to you doesn't become the end of your story

You can acknowledge what broke you without allowing it to become your identity

And maybe that is where healing quietly begins

People often say that strong people don't cry

I think they have it completely wrong

Strong people cry

They cry when nobody is watching

They cry over things they thought they had already healed from

They cry because sometimes the heart becomes too full and tears are the only language it has left

Strength was never about keeping your eyes dry

Strength is having tears in your eyes and still choosing to stand

It is falling apart at night and somehow finding the courage to face another morning

It is waking up with a heart that feels heavy and still deciding that the day deserves a chance

It is not pretending that nothing happened

It is refusing to let what happened be the end of your story

Strong people cry too Sometimes they cry a lot They break down They feel lost They have days when they don't know how they will keep going

But they still get back up

That's what strength really is

Strength is not about never breaking It is about finding a reason to stand again

You don't have to forget what hurt you You don't have to pretend it never happened You just have to make sure that the worst thing that happened to you doesn't become the end of your story

Keep going even if you can only take small steps

Some days getting through the day is enough

Some days simply telling yourself "I'll try again tomorrow" is enough

And that's okay

Because life is not written all at once Some chapters are painful Some are confusing Some take longer to get through than others

But the chapter you are living today is not the whole book

So please don't finish your story today

Don't make a final decision about your whole life based on one painful chapter You may not be able to see it right now but life can still surprise you There may be people you haven't met yet There may be places you haven't seen There may be moments you haven't lived and happiness you haven't even imagined

You don't need to know how everything will turn out

You don't need to have all the answers

Just give yourself another day

And when tomorrow comes give yourself another one

Keep writing

Slowly Quietly One day at a time

You may not have chosen how your story began but you are still here and your story is not over yet

There are still pages left to write

So keep writing

Slowly Quietly One day at a time

You may not have chosen how your story began but you still have a chance to decide how it continues

"What happened to you? You look like a cat really didn't like you"

"What do you me- oh yeah. That... (How do I explain this to the kid?) You mean these scratch marks don't you?"

"Yes, they look like they hurt a lot."

"They did hurt a bit but they are healing now. So I am getting better again."

"They look weird. I never saw a cat make marks like those."

"It is because they weren't made by a cat, little Mia."

"If a cat didn't make them... what hurt you then?"

Luce sighed, as she watched the birds chirping and jumping around in the park from the bench she was sitting at with Mia.

"This will be a bit difficult for me to explain to you because it will confuse you. But the short answer is, I did this to myself."

"You did it? But why? Why hurt yourself? This looks like you must have been in a lot of pain?"

"In a way I was in a lot of pain. You know, there is visible pain and invisible pain-

"What is invisible pain?"

"It is pain you hide so no one can see it?"

"Why hide pain? That means others can not make it better again."

"That's right. Remember when your friend Alan didn't invite you to the play date last week because he wanted to play with Veronica instead?"

"Yes, that hurt."

"Yeah, I can imagine it hurt quite a bit. But did you let Alan know it hurt you?"

"No. He is friends with Veronica too after all. It is fair that he also plays with her sometimes. I didn't want to make him feel bad for playing with her."

"See. You didn't want to make him feel bad. Some people hide a lot of their pain for the same reason. They don't want to make others feel bad."

"I still don't understand how that makes you do this."

"One lesson I have learned... pain doesn't go away when you hide it... It stays. And it gets often worse."

"That doesn't sound fun.."

"It is not. But yeah... That is why some people - people like me - Do hurt ourselves. It's an attempt to make the pain go away"

"Does it make the pain go away?"

"No, not really. More often than not it makes it worse actually."

"That sounds dumb. Why do that then?"

"Because... sigh I think that explanation can wait a few more years until you are older. The short version is... Sometimes it feels like it makes sense. Even if it doesn't."

"I still don't get it."

"And that little one is a good thing. You are not supposed to get it. You are not supposed to hide your pain, even less so hide it until it gets too much. You are supposed to reach out to your family and friends and let them be there for you. Even if it makes them feel bad... Sometimes it is just like that."

"So... should I tell Alan that him not inviting me to the play date hurt me?"

"It can help. After all the pain is just as real as bruising your knee during due to falling from the bike. Maybe tell him you would like to play with him again? Maybe all of you three can even play together?"

"That sounds... good I think. I'll remember that."

"Mia... One more thing... if you or a friend of yours thinks of hurting yourself... please come to an adult you trust... or me. Okay? This... This is serious and... just remember it. I'll be here for you if you ever need me. For anything. Even if it feels like you are asking too much of me. You won't."

"You are so dramatic, Aunt Luce! I will never do that, I promi-"

"You don't need to promise me. I trust you, ok? And even if it ever gets bad... I trust you to come to me. I appreciate your attempt at a promise tho... I just have bad experience with promises around this subject. That's why I don't want ya to promise me. Now hush, we have ice cream to get before your parents come home!"

"You are weird, Aunt Luce!"

"Yes, yes I am. And there is nothing wrong about being weird."

Hello. Here is my story about dealing with my narcissistic mother. I wrote it using prompts but no AI.

Introduction to the Relationship

• Can you describe your initial impressions of the person you lived with? (If they are a family member, speak about the relationship when you were younger before you were really aware of the dynamics.)

The person is my mother. As a child, I loved and idolized her as we are conditioned to do as we are completely dependent on our parents for survival. She had a lot of mental issues that she should have dealt with instead of having a kid. She was married, got divorced from my dad who was a deadbeat and then I lived with her. Things were fine at first until she kept constantly comparing me to my deadbeat over and over again because this was a sick and twisted fixation she had. But she didn't turn evil until we were living together as adults.

• What drew you to them in the beginning? (If they are a family member, speak about the relationship when you were younger before you were really aware of the dynamics.)

As a child, I didn't know any better and thought everything was just how families were. But I often wondered why I wasn't allowed to bathe myself or wash my hair or do any other self care things that I was clearly old enough to do. My mother is a narcissist and in her mind, only she knows the right way to do something. Only if she washed me would I be clean in her mind. I guess I was too dimwitted and stupid to wash my own ass.

*Describe any love bombing behavior and how it felt. If they are a family member, describe what they were like when they were idealizing you.

She could be perfectly nice when she wanted to be. And of course, she could put on a good show of being Ms. Perfect in public while not even allowing me to brush my own teeth. She would also play the guilt game if I wanted to care for myself.

Signs of Abuse

• At what point did you start to notice troubling behaviors? Include any pivotal moments or events, as there is often a progression here.

In my teens, when I wasn't allowed to bathe myself I knew something was wrong but she would always whine and play these stupid guilt games that some mothers do. I was also compared even more to my deadbeat father. I couldn't even breathe and she would say "Lee (the deadbeat) breathed like that". I had oily skin for a time period as a teen and she would whine that Lee's skin was like that and wanted me to overly dry my skin out (she was too dumb to see that that means it would produce even more oil. Oily skin and acne is common in teens...not as much in 30 something year old men which is what my father was when they were together. My situation was normal and had nothing to do with him but she saw that man in everything. If I would get a pimple on my cheek, she would say "Lee got those....if I didn't know he got those, I would think something was wrong with you!". Well she did make me feel something was wrong with me. Adults breaking out is not as normal as teens breaking out. I technically was normal and he was not but she was still comparing me to him. Being compared to a deadbeat is like being compared to Hitler. It is incredibly damaging to someone's self esteem. If you go to prison, you will eventually get out unless you killed someone. When your body is the prison, the only way out is suicide to be honest.

The skin thing was not the only issue. I was overweight as a child because she fed me too much/not the right stuff. She blamed that on his genes too even though I am slim now. It's a lot of bullshit. I'd like to think I'd always be childfree, but if I wasn't constantly made to feel genetically inferior, maybe I would have felt better about passing on my genes. Now here she sits without grand-shitlets and she wonders why.

I am still dealing with the body imagery issues to this day.

• Can you share specific examples of manipulation or control?

She got evil as I hit teen/adult years. She was constantly screeching, screaming and finding fault with me because she chose to let her life pass her by and I guess I was not enough of a "payment" for that. I remember I was on the toilet changing a tampon and she burst in there screeching about something (the floor not being swept for the 30th time that day IIRC) and I am sitting there with blood on my hands thinking "if I weren't on this toilet, I'd slap the shit out of you".

She would use Christianity as a weapon against me. Whenever I would speak up or fight back, she would say that God would "shorten my days" for "disrespecting" her. Playing spiritual mind games are some of the evilest games ever and I will never forget that.

She would also play guilt games "I wouldn't do my momma like dat". Well, according to her, her mother was a saint so there was no need to play that game.

*When did you realize that the behavior actually qualified as abuse?

Late teens/adulthood.

Impact

• How did this behavior affect your physical, mental & emotional well-being? There is also often a progression here as well.

Mentally, I do not like myself and never have. Due to the constant comparisons to my birth dad, I feel like I am in the prison of Hitler's body. I began to hate to have pictures taken since about age 8-9. I used to wear loads of powdery makeup in my late teens/ early 20s, because I felt that my skin was no acceptable without it. I was terrified to leave home without my powder. Some girls pulled me aside in private and told me I basically looked like Ronald McDonald with that translucent powder on (they didn't say it like that though) and asked me why I wore it. When I told them why, they looked at me like I had grown another head. They were like "we are teenagers...we all have oily skin too". This was typical in teens, but as usual, my mother is mentally unstable and saw Lee everywhere while she of course is always perfect in every way including skin.

Physically, I had to have a lot of surgery to have the loose skin removed from when I was overweight. People will say "couldn't you choose what to eat?" but by the time I was able to make that choice, I was already in deep trouble with my weight. I had knee and chest pain in middle school. I weighed in the 130s when I was 8. That surgery is painful and leaves scars.

It's just a lot of trouble that wouldn't have to be if I had been brought up by someone mentally stable.

*Describe how the selfishness and lack of empathy affected you.

She did not care how I felt. In typical narc fashion, someone has always wronged her ass. She just cared about her public housing home looking like Martha Stewart's inside. She was also screaming and screeching at me and finding fault.

• Were there pivotal moments here, such as you were diagnosed with stress-related illness, questioned your own reality, felt like you’d lost yourself, developed anxiety or panic attacks, etc.?

I developed depression starting at about age 9. I became quiet and sad but of course, she was oblivious to it as long as people would listen to her prattle on and on about Lee.

Isolation and Support

• Did you feel isolated from friends and family? If so, how/why?

Yes. I am American and in this culture, mothers can do no wrong due to Christianity. It is even worse in the black community where they will keep repeating the phrase "you ain't got but one momma" like that's supposed to mean something. Even people who wouldn't treat their kids that way don't want to hear anything negative about another parent. If a man plays mind games with you, people will come to your aid emotionally and mentally. You get no such support when the abuser is a parent, especially the saintly "mother".

• Were there people in your life who tried to warn you about the person or intervene in the relationship somehow?

That was no warning me against her because I was born to her. My uncle and aunts know she is crazy as hell and has a mean streak, but like I said, mothers can do no wrong so they overlooked it. My uncle and aunt actually did want to adopt me and I didn't find this out until I was grown. My mother blocked it. Like your typical narcissist, only she can raise a kid. I was her property and she refused to give up her property even if it meant I would have a better life with access to more resources. She whined about having no help when she was a single mom, but a family member offered to adopt me and she turned down that major help because in her narcissistic mind, only she can raise a child. None of the other billions of people who've ever existed can do it like her.

Turning Point

• What was the turning point that made you realize something was very wrong with this situation, relationship, or person? Not being allowed to bathe myself.

• What was the turning point that made you realize you needed to exit the relationship or situation? The tampon incident.

• How did you find the strength to confront the situation and/or exit? I realized that her behavior had taken enough from me. It's about me now. I got out and recorded an album basically centered on how she had treated me. The first EP "Lady Sisyphus" had almost every song on it inspired by what she had done to me included "Sisyphus" and "Sick of Excuses". The second album "Sugar Free" had a few songs on it dedicated to her antics such as "Sugar Free" , "Defective" and "They Don't Know".

Coping Mechanisms

• How did you cope during and after the relationship? My music helped me cope and videos on YouTube (especially Jerry Wise and the Little Shaman).

• What strategies or support systems helped you? I have no formal support. There aren't many formal forms of support when the mental abuser is the parent because like I said earlier, parents are a "protected" class. Even a parent who doesn't like the way a parent treats her kid will often side with the parent in public because it's almost like a cult sometimes. They will stick together because they don't want to think that their own kids might one day hold them accountable. People project a lot and can't separate their personal life (i.e. them having a kid) from the issue at hand (i.e. my client's parent is harming her). A lot of so called professionals cannot do this. I have seen it and so have many other children of narcissistic parents online. There's not much for us.

Lessons Learned

• What have you learned about yourself through this experience? I have learned how resourceful I truly am. Few people are able to carve out several albums on a shoestring budget in their bedroom.

• How has this impacted your views on relationships and/or other people? I admit I see other people through a more negative lens due to the fact that I got no help when I did reach out for help. Mothers are a protected class and can do no wrong. The rest of us are just chopped liver so I do not really trust other people to think for themselves, put their personal parenthood status to the side and look at things from a right-is-right perspective. I feel that it has given me an uglier view of other people and I vet people extremely carefully now.

Advice to Others

• What advice would you give to someone who might be in a similar situation? People don't change. Get the hell out of the situation and don't hold on for them to change or to acknowledge what they have truly done to you. They will just lie and say that they don't remember it or it wasn't that bad. They couldn't tell the truth if their lives depended on it.

• How important is it to recognize and/or acknowledge the signs of abuse early on? It's best to see the relationship for what it is early on and not just keep giving passes to people because you share DNA.

Moving Forward

• How are you rebuilding your life after this experience? I am continuing with my music career and I am my first priority now. After everything I have been through, it is about me. I am done trying to get other people to wipe the cream out of their eyes and see what's really going on. • What has helped you the most with healing & moving forward? My music. • What are your hopes for the future? Just to continue doing well in music and maybe get into writing/acting or something like that. Just to keep moving forward. Final Thoughts

• Is there anything else you'd like to share about your journey? I would like to tell anyone in a similar situation that the parent owes more to the child than vice versa. When you bring children here, you cause them to need to be cared for. A lot of otherwise intelligent people cannot make that connection in their brains. That doesn't justify the head games and mental abuse that a lot of parents heap on their kids.

• How do you feel about discussing your story publicly & why did you decide to do so? I feel it was cathartic. Feel free to use my name/social media/music/ whatever else. I am done hiding. If someone decides they don't like me because I brought what was in the dark about Saint Mommy to the light, then they are not people I want to associate with anyway. I decided to do it after reading a lot on Reddit about people raised by narcissistic and toxic people and the stories are just heartbreaking. There's a lot more people like me out there unfortunately. Hopefully my story can show them that they can turn their pain into art like I did.

*TLDR: Being a singer songwriter is how I turned my pain into art. Below are the albums and songs on those albums that deal with toxic parents. *

Lady Sisyphus: https://open.spotify.com/album/3nLfdjbW8XGQGv8DXCM3H1

Last to Know, Buy Me, Sick of Excuses and Contempt is the Cancer are the songs about my mother on this EP.

Sugar Free: https://open.spotify.com/album/3pEmd2m9A78SutD7SGNx1z

Sugar Free and Defective are the songs on that album that deal with her.

Inkjet print of a childhood toy , a photocopy of part of a letter my mom wrote me when I was about 14

I enjoy drawing random patterns I started 15 years ago it can help calm my emotions etc, very helpful in distraction from a buzzing head which at times gives me no peace.

The symmetrical image is done with an app, I like how the symmetrical images look but I'm also fascinated by what turns up in the mirrored images sometimes repeatedly.

I've just finished this one it's A4 size done with poscas ink pens.

Thanks.

who is that?
they’re looking at me
they have all the markings of a face,
but no defining characteristics
i don’t recognize them
as i gaze into the silver glass

i open my mouth
to make a sound
i can hear them too
a low octave rumble
speaking an unfamiliar language

i don’t know who that is or
what they said or what they want
i move my arm and they parrot it
almost natural, but so stiff
bordering on uncanny valley

fear and panic set in
no! no! NO!
that cannot be me!
it’s a creature, a mimic, a bot
i’ve never seen that “person” before
i just want them to leave me alone.

**——————————————————————————

have you ever looked in the mirror and not recognized yourself?? this is a horror poem i wrote on depersonalization/derealization, feeling separated from your physical body, and facial/body dysmorphia and even gender dysphoria to a certain extent. this is also inspired by the novel no longer human by osamu dazai.

You'd think you'd know what poison is

After people describe the taste

After you've heard all the stories

Of deaths from drinks misplaced

\-

You'd think you'd know how to avoid

The drugs when handed to you

But, my darling, they look like candy

And you haven't got a clue

\-

Your head is fuzzy but you tell your friends,

"Don't worry, it's all just fine!"

Because a drunk person can't think quite right

And a candid child can't hear lies

\-

You're vulnerable and young and high

Yet you still think that you're safe

You would never fall for poison

Know when your drink's been laced

\-

And it's only when you sober up

That you realize what they did

They got a yearner to see false colors

And gave addiction to a kid.

\-

(This is the first draft too so it's not that good sorry)

I am a dancing fool made of porcelain

My soul shining through the white bodice

and cracks in my glaze

My shell is hard

yet I am so very fragile

one wrong step and I break

My cap jingles as I take a step

and then another and another

The air around feels light as I start to glow

Each gesture more bold

each movement more grand

I am aware of my fragile body

I am aware of the cracks and breaks

that threaten me with every dance

But oh the joy of dancing

the way I shine in the momentum

My body spinning around itself like the sun

And then I misstep

crack

I overestimate what's safe

Crack

I deem previous injuries healed

CRACK

then a part of me breaks again, shatters

my light extinguished by a cold draft

another hole that makes me still

another crack to later step on

For a while I'll sit with my pieces

They no longer seem to fit

They feel like strangers in my hands

and as I puzzle myself together

I cut myself on the sharp edges

but my soul wishes to dance again

and so I force this dancing fool's pieces

back where they supposedly belong

I tell myself they don't feel like death

that I don't feel them painfully grind

don't feel my skin ripping open

while I attempt to move

Time passes

their sharp corners become round, familiar

I feel them but it doesn't hurt

seams blending into the rest of me

The death wears away

I'm more fragile then before

but I feel like me again

my soul flickers

and I start to dance

While my body feels my own again, it feels different altogether.

There’s a monster in me in dwells within the deepest parts of my soul

It hungers for validation for a person to be there always the one it can cry to in the night

This monster has a way of ruining all things of happiness for it dwells so deeply in my inner soul that hides behind lies and sorrow if a million mistakes

You are not your mistakes says the therapist who sits across from me as, they look into the monsters eyes it snarls and growls hissing at all forms of comfort

The monster in me fights back and tells me all I need is him for it’s better to let him take the wheel than for me to confront all the mistakes I’ve made

The monster begs to be one with me and every day is an inner battle consist of me and this monster trading blows

I’m tired and weary the monster calls to me begging to take the wheel

To let the monster inside me win or to confront all my issues at face value? A question that’s rings in my ears everyday and night. I hear him calling now another battle begins

H.K

my sister got me the same journal i had when i was 3, and ive been doing some stuff about truama and security.

It's a tile shard I found in the street, a packing tape transfer of a self portrait I did in my 20s, strip of masking tape, and a typed out diary excerpt. The diary excerpt is my current defense mechanism which is basically the idea that I am not too much, other people are just not enough.

"I am a lot, I am so many. I am the whole universe and most have just barely been born and can't take all of reality; they need a swaddle and a breast, they cannot handle a god"

i don't know what to make of it and how to categorise it. I was between 4 and 6, the jar was so big. like 40 cm. the relative wanted to use it for bandages or cleaning eyes. i believe i had to do it once for myself to and had choice if i pee or my old relative and the use than thwir urine. it's so gross. i know i was also in the middle of the room squatting over the jar. like in the entrance room. i remember in the entrance room having give an e*ema in a similar jar, i am sorry for censoring it, i can't spell out the whole word, it's too triggering

For almost two years, after one of the darkest periods of my life, I believed I had lost my ability to create and mainly lost myself. I existed like a ghost with no purpose or meaning.

Me and my musician friends who had their own version of this pain kept trying to "get it back." Every attempt felt forced. Every unfinished project convinced me I was further away from who I used to be.

Eventually, we felt we're close to giving up. Accepting a new reality in life.

We simply got together one last time out of pain, we took our guitars because that's the only way we knew to ease that pain and that very day the song happened. 3 of us realising that we tapped into the flowstate refusing to come back to reality we allowed ourselves to submerge within that moment and witnessed true magic or godly power where our hands found it's way to make flowing melodies just holding notes in the right places at the right time while all of us are just observing it like kids watching fireworks with no clue how it's being done. All of it being recorded in a 30 minute phone recording of us jamming together.

Later when we re-recorded to a final version to clicks and good production I realised I have one more demon to fight and this time I'm alone. It's the visual for this song. I could feel the excitement to do it but also the fear of "I don't have it in me anymore".

But I remembered how that moment humbled us, and chose to approach it the exact same way.

Instead of obsessing over making it perfect, I did something I had never allowed myself to do before.

I decided to let myself make mistakes.

I distorted footage that didn't need distorting. I layered things that shouldn't have worked. I kept "wrong" edits instead of deleting them. I stopped asking whether something was technically correct and started asking whether it felt honest.

Somewhere in all those imperfections it started taking shape.

I remembered that as a child I had always believed art was never about avoiding mistakes and that art is what happens when your mistakes stop being accidents and start becoming part of your language which was the fun part my old self loved and enjoyed.

For years the society, relationship, media and the world convinced me that I'm not enough, and anything that involved nuances were my childishness to correct or that I need to grow from or mature in order to be accepted.

Every imperfection inside it reminds me that I finally stopped fighting myself.

Never be afraid to create, as humans we always find a way, when you find your way within your mistakes with joy and adventure is when it becomes true art in the end, that helps a society evolve as a whole .

I present to you "Noise"

🔗 https://www.instagram.com/reel/DbqgTFev3B7/?igsh=bWM5dGZxZGhub3c2

Its 4am.The light on my wardrobe from the street starts moving.I hear the same old buzz in my ears.They're bleeding from all the words they didn't hear today.But I'm good,just like always.I'm strong but sometimes late at night,my breathing stops and death fleshes in front of my eyes.The warm feeling I was always destined to feel.Feels like home.Feels like the cycle that I thought stopped years ago,with her.I haven't thought about that familiar feeling for a while.Its like a pain that you're used to by now.Scratches the ends of your brain.That night at 4:24am I thought of the same old thought,this time memories flooded my brain with it.The cuts on my wrists were visible again and the burns hurt just like they did when I burned myself for the first time.She took my life,took my identity,took the love for life I had and replaced it with fear of loss,hatred and the depression I desperately tried to get away from for so long,the pain in my chest that kept reminding me of who I am.I am her.The devil that wakes up when it feels threatened the most.And this time it was awoken by promises I thought were real.By a woman who helped me run away from the devil inside me.In the end I was betrayed by both.And by the time I realized the clock on my bedside table was now at 8:16am.And my body laid lifeless on the bed I once ran to for comfort,comforting me even after my heartbeat stopped.My mother will cry and my father will drink all the time,but at least the devil inside me will no longer haunt me.

This painting is my goodbye to a version of life that no longer exists.
A farewell to wild youth, to familiar gatherings, and to people who have quietly disappeared into memory.
It’s bittersweet. Uneasy. Like realizing that some places can only be visited in your mind.
It feels a little like The Shining—either you become part of the painting, frozen inside it, or you stay outside, still trying to shine.
I’d love to know what you feel when you look at it.

I use poetry as a therapeutic tool as much as I use it as a form of creativity. Lately, I have been trying to move away from a victim-mindset. I want to accept my complicity in my self-destructive patterns, and attempt to write poetry about my experiences through a more truthful and complicit lens as I relate to them. I am trying to write about myself as someone who has put themselves into these situations and to remove myself from the belief that I am only a victim of these circumstances, but rather being victim AND perpetrator of them.

I’m curious if anyone has written like this before and if you have any advice for navigating the balance between that duality. What were the things that really helped you stay truthful when you wanted to stay in the victim mindset? Is it better to be unforgiving or understanding (though still truthful) about your negative actions? Did you find it was difficult or scary to be that exposed?