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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

I can’t seem to cry anymore… or did I mean any less

My heart sits low and heavy, like a boulder tugging me down making me sick to my stomach. Sucked in by that blackhole feeling.

You understand the one, the one that aches and is so uncomfortable in shakes your entire trunk. Like going over the bumps in the road that make your stomach jump back into your throat. Like a bungee chord extended to its limit and then jerked back again to slack.

That’s the only feeling I experience anymore… or did I mean any less.

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I used to be a cutter…

And by used to, I mean yesterday.

Yesterday I cut.

A relapse in therapy. In life. In my mind. It’s hard to remind yourself to stay focused. To stay in tune. To control the symptoms of a diagnosis not wanted.

I am not the diagnosis.

I am not the diagnosis.

I am a being; made of symptoms and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I am on my way to change these… but the problem with unhealthy coping mechanisms is that they work.

They work fast and they work intensely. The sharp knife is blessed as is the broken mirror. The scissors. I see all of the sharpest edges and fantasize about their tugging across my skin.

Sure. They tell you to meditate. They tell you to surf the emotion. They say it won’t actually drown you.. but my body doesn’t get it..

It lays there. Choking. Gasping for air. For life. My body may not be drowning, but it reacts like it is. The chaos hits again and again like a storm on the ocean. I can’t control it… so I try to save it.

I used to be a cutter.

But today I am clinging on to a life raft hoping it will save me.

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