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This thread has been labeled as triggering, particularly on the subject of self harm, by the original poster or by a Moderator. The contents of this thread might therefore not be suitable for certain sensitive users. Please take this into consideration before continuing to read.
I sit, crosslegged, exhausted.
I wear nothing but paper scrubs;
Sometimes a gown, if they are nice.
These lights are bright,
Overhead, bearing down,
Highlighting my shame.
I want them off,
But they have to see me, watch me,
Because I am "not safe."
I feel lost, empty, and utterly alone.
Pain radiates across my flesh,
Coming in waves, crashing one after another,
But I say nothing.
It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.
How many times, now?
Too many to count.
They know me.
They talk quietly about me, thinking I can't hear,
But I hear every word.
Their tone drips with judgment, even disdain.
You don't know what it's like, I want to say,
But I stay silent, defeated.
It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.
I am a ghost, a husk of a person.
That's how I ended up here.
A curiosity, a freak,
Causing this kind of injury.
It didn't hurt this time, really.
The pain inside dulled whatever physical sensations I felt during.
But now I am open, exposed,
My suffering a clear sign of distress.
The room stripped of "temptations,"
Even though I have no desire to hurt further.
I'm empty,
Alone amongst soft blues and greens,
Nothing but shame and dread to help me pass the time.
It doesn't matter.
I don't matter.
Just let me close my eyes,
And escape this place,
My body.
A crescent moon shines bright above the cityscape.
I wish I could fly.
I'd kiss the stars as I take in the night.
But I'm trapped in these walls,
Listening to the sounds of suffering
Around me.
If only I had someone here with me.
If only they held my hand, telling me it'd be okay.
If only they'd tell me despite this, I am loved.
This was really good and I was able to feel the emotion that you put into this. I hope you are doing okay. I always enjoy reading what you write. Sending you to help you.
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"Dance is your pulse, your heartbeat,
It’s the rhythm
of your life.
It’s the expression
in time and movement,
in happiness, joy, sadness and envy.
-Jacques d’Ambroise''
This was a really good description of waiting in an emergency room. Even though I've not been in that situation, your writing really made me imagine what it's like. Thanks for sharing
This was really well written and I am able to know what it's like being in an emergency room. My situation was somewhat different, but I know the feeling of being helpless and nobody allowing you to speak about the incident that brought you there.