“It hurts! Help me!” I scream. They come running, begging “what hurts? How can I help?”
“Everything. My heart. My soul. My feelings. It all hurts. Help me!”
“I don’t know how!”
“HELP. ME.” Tears running down my face as if away from the thing terrorizing me inside.
They look at me, knowing I am in pain, hurting in my hurt, lost in their helplessness.
I’m drowning in my tears. My thoughts. Memories are like murder weapons, cutting through decisions I could have made.
Stifled sobs are all I have left.
Fetal position. Child’s pose. Corpse pose.
The only life in me is undead.
I gave the world I carried into trusted hands
To be traded for a dime bag
“HELP.” Gasps. “Meeeeee” pleads
For 62 days. Since we broke, shattered.
I cried. Morning. Evening. Midnight. In my sleep.
Pillows saturated in tears, stinking of salt and despair.
Restless nights and torn sheets
Fractured memories seeping into dreams
I begged for help
I carried the pain
92 days later
I am letting go
You’ve set sail down a path of self destruction
Buoyed by your enablers and friends fearful
I’ve done all I could
And then I did more
Help me. I was asking the wrong people.
You helped me. You made it easy to stop hurting.
To you, who broke my heart and set it free.
That’s the dedication in the book I will write. It may hurt you, if you still have a heart for me, but know it is written in love. You did show me love for a time, unlike any I have known.