I realize that this probably takes away from the “writing” portion of this post, but I had to make a disclaimer: this poem is quite old and I was in an extremely dark place when I wrote it, and it doesn’t apply to me anymore.
It almost feels wrong to post this for mental health month, honestly, but I think it’s important to see the darkness as well as the light. This was not meant to be a glorification of mental illness, it’s just how I personally felt in the middle of the darkness. Please, please do not read any further if dark themes upset you. Stay safe, Friends.
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I refuse to succumb to your demands to roll over and play dead like I’m your pet.
This is not a request. I’m taking control over my life from this day forward, and here are my demands: you will stop breathing down my neck.
You will stop trying to drag me back into your suffocating grasp.
You’re going to stop planting these sick thoughts in my head, and stop making me believe I’d be better off dead.
Your clutch is dark and unforgiving, but I am not ready yet to quit living, so I’ll push back on your firm hold, and fight until the day you let go.
You’ve tried for years to tell me that I’m not really here, but I hope this letter makes it clear: I’m not dead yet, and I refuse to pretend.
Do you hear me, you soul sucking coward? I’M NOT DEAD YET!