This time last year

Mornings did
not look the same
they were spent
trapped in a
Sinking bed,
with incapable limbs
frozen and thawing.
The sky was always
lacking its correct
to add colour to
my pale cheeks.
Looking out,
the world was moving
faster than i ever could.
mornings didn’t
feel the same
with the hurricane
grasp being stitched
into skin.
the daily
accomplishment of
leaving a room.
of finding a smile
to try on for a little while.
of forced laugh
and conversation.
this time last year,
my skin
was a canvas
coloured with
sharp objects
and mutilation.
No one else saw
the beauty in red
as much as i did
on the nights of
fighting myself.
Photographs of the moments
that wont leave my head.
linger through whispers
than stagger. this time last year
i was bones and skin
and sadness and bulimia and
depression and self harm and i still
This time last year
i was walking down streets at night,
i was swallowing bottles of pills
to only find myself unsure
of what had happened
the night before.
i still am a disappearing act
i still am brown hair dyed black
brown eyes and quiet smile. I still am
bowling on Saturday’s
at 9:30 in the morning.
I still am give spare change
into donation boxes at the corner store.
i still am more than my
diagnoses, more than my illnesses.
more than my demons
could ever compel me to be.


4 thoughts on “This time last year”

  1. Terrific article! That is the type of information that are meant to be shared around the net.
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  2. This is beautiful, you are a great inspiration to anyone who deals with depression. So brave to pour your heart out into your writing and talk so openly about an obstacle that is clearly very hard for a lot of people to talk about. You are a very good writer!

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