This track of life has been hard on me, countless times I was used for other sexual preference and been degrading by harmful words and taunts from people I put trust in. Slut, whore, bitch, emo, freak all those things are labels that I have acquired. I've been pushed down into this pit below the surface of society, into the back of everyone's minds, gone from this world but still living. I have gone to depression.
After being pushed and prodded until I fell from the surface back into myself, I kept digging myself in further, pulling out from the people and activitys I loved to drown in my own pointless sorrow. With pain as my only feeling I took to something knew. People say that those scars on my arms were a cat, those cuts on my wrist were from my abuse, the dead look in my eyes from lack of sleep. Anything, they would think of anything but the truth.
And that hurt the most, I changed the direction of my cut, from just slices across the arm and wrist to long bloody lines from the inside of my elbow down to the base of my wrist. I would watch transfixed as my blood would pour out, the life of me slowly dieing, wishing deeply that I was as free as that blood. Wishing I could just let myself bleed out, but no, you mustn't do that, not yet. So I clean myself up, the drying blood on my arms crack as I move.
I put my life line, my soft razor back into its kit, back under my bed... for no one to ever know. Soon I knew, the blood would be too much, and I would let myself go, I feared that day, and I praised that day. That's when it hit me... I needed help. Or I was gonna die, I was at a live or die choice, and my choice was to try to live, I would spend a month looking for help through trusted teachers, friends, I would voice my concern to kids help phone. And, if in a month I had not succeeded, I would allow myself to bleed out.
Did this work? I showed my poem 'Once on the front of my binder' to my french teacher, whom I had trust in and was willing to talk to, all I got was a strange look and a pat on the back. I wrote poems in English class, I wrote quotes all over my binders. No one looked for me in the back of my mind, no one would strive to pull me back out. I would call kids help phone.. in the beginning they just listened. I talked to my best friends about this, hoping they would see I wanted help and would pull at my soul until it bounced back from the depths of despair to join the beauty in the world.
No one helped, as the day I had set grew closer, I was growing frantic, I knew deep in my heart I didn't want to leave this world, but the pain around me was so strong, I didn't know how else to stop it. The darkness was eating away at my mind, the pain became a physical pressure on my chest. And unwanted burden that never left. I voiced to my best friend one last time in hopes she would finally see... and instead of getting help, I was told to kill myself.
Pain burst through my soul and body as anger for this blinded world rose within me, and I headed for my room for the last time. I grabbed my razor and brought it down with much force onto my arm, I slipped the metal over my skin for the last time, I let the blood drip, drip, drip. I let the pain flood from within me and pour out through the steady stream of blood. I let my whole soul move out of my body just as the phone rang.
The sound of the phone waking me from my trance I quickly dabbed it clean, as I reached for the house phone. "HANNAH DONT DO IT" it was emilie. A sharp pain stabbed through my heart, what did she want? "I didn't mean it that way I'm sorry!" but as the blood breaks through a few of the scabs I sigh, "its too late, I have to go" and I hung up.
The sound of sirens blaring, the light of the hospital, the ache in my chest, the sting on my arm, the tears of my family, they smell of betrayal. I woke again to hectic, people around me and my parents crying, each tear that fell from there eyes was another stab to the soul.
After being pushed and prodded until I fell from the surface back into myself, I kept digging myself in further, pulling out from the people and activitys I loved to drown in my own pointless sorrow. With pain as my only feeling I took to something knew. People say that those scars on my arms were a cat, those cuts on my wrist were from my abuse, the dead look in my eyes from lack of sleep. Anything, they would think of anything but the truth.
And that hurt the most, I changed the direction of my cut, from just slices across the arm and wrist to long bloody lines from the inside of my elbow down to the base of my wrist. I would watch transfixed as my blood would pour out, the life of me slowly dieing, wishing deeply that I was as free as that blood. Wishing I could just let myself bleed out, but no, you mustn't do that, not yet. So I clean myself up, the drying blood on my arms crack as I move.
I put my life line, my soft razor back into its kit, back under my bed... for no one to ever know. Soon I knew, the blood would be too much, and I would let myself go, I feared that day, and I praised that day. That's when it hit me... I needed help. Or I was gonna die, I was at a live or die choice, and my choice was to try to live, I would spend a month looking for help through trusted teachers, friends, I would voice my concern to kids help phone. And, if in a month I had not succeeded, I would allow myself to bleed out.
Did this work? I showed my poem 'Once on the front of my binder' to my french teacher, whom I had trust in and was willing to talk to, all I got was a strange look and a pat on the back. I wrote poems in English class, I wrote quotes all over my binders. No one looked for me in the back of my mind, no one would strive to pull me back out. I would call kids help phone.. in the beginning they just listened. I talked to my best friends about this, hoping they would see I wanted help and would pull at my soul until it bounced back from the depths of despair to join the beauty in the world.
No one helped, as the day I had set grew closer, I was growing frantic, I knew deep in my heart I didn't want to leave this world, but the pain around me was so strong, I didn't know how else to stop it. The darkness was eating away at my mind, the pain became a physical pressure on my chest. And unwanted burden that never left. I voiced to my best friend one last time in hopes she would finally see... and instead of getting help, I was told to kill myself.
Pain burst through my soul and body as anger for this blinded world rose within me, and I headed for my room for the last time. I grabbed my razor and brought it down with much force onto my arm, I slipped the metal over my skin for the last time, I let the blood drip, drip, drip. I let the pain flood from within me and pour out through the steady stream of blood. I let my whole soul move out of my body just as the phone rang.
The sound of the phone waking me from my trance I quickly dabbed it clean, as I reached for the house phone. "HANNAH DONT DO IT" it was emilie. A sharp pain stabbed through my heart, what did she want? "I didn't mean it that way I'm sorry!" but as the blood breaks through a few of the scabs I sigh, "its too late, I have to go" and I hung up.
The sound of sirens blaring, the light of the hospital, the ache in my chest, the sting on my arm, the tears of my family, they smell of betrayal. I woke again to hectic, people around me and my parents crying, each tear that fell from there eyes was another stab to the soul.
- Last seen 6 hours ago. Member since March 30.
- I'm a jade dragon poet for 236 comments.
- My mood is
, and quote is "Why does no one like me anymore?". - I am a 15 year old girl (Canada)
- When I'm not writing, I'm Trying to raise awearness for child abuse (Sexual, Emotional, Physical Ex.).
- Contact me on
- Email:
- MSN Messenger: hannah_love_randle@hotmail.com
- I am in the groups Kingdom of the Dreams, Spirit, XxAcidicBruisesAndShatteredSoulsxX, the power of darkness
- I have 236 comments, 6 contests, 76 poems, 15 stories, 4 journals
Poems I'm focused on
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Once on the front of my binder
I wrote a poem42 lines, 32 comments, May 8. In Pain, Sad, Dark, Emo, Depression, Self, Depressed, Teen issues, Goodbyes -
Can anyone here me?
Anyone know? -
My clothes falling to the ground
My hands behind my head are bound
My Poetry
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The swirling snow drifts
Landing gently on my tongue3 lines, 1 comment, November 22 -
39 lines, 2 comments, November 22
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Laying down, she closes her eyes.
Her spirit drifting as she cries.23 lines, 1 comment, November 22 -
~~~~~I love you so so so so ~~
~~~much, you mean everything to me~18 lines, November 21
My Stories
1 - 3 of 15
Show all at storywrite
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This track of life has been hard on me, countless times I was used for other sexual preference and been degrading by harmful words and taunts from people I put trust in. Slut, whore, bitch, emo, freak all those things are lab727 lines, September 1. In 600-2000 words
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[I leave the house for the billionth time on my well rehearsed way to school. I had walked this block a million times, I had no clue that I could get lost on that small boulevard.]1192 lines, 1 comment, August 9. In <600 words
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It was a chilly day, not so cold you needed a coat but cold enough you longed for a sweater. The air was just a bit nippy and the salt spray off the water stung my cheeks.1164 lines, 1 comment, June 4. In <600 words
My journal entries
1 - 3 of 4
Show all
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This track of life has been hard on me, countless times I was used for other sexual preference and been degrading by harmful words and taunts from people I put trust in. Slut, whore, bitch, emo, freak all those things are labels that I have acquired. I've been pushed down into this pit below the surface of society, iSeptember 1, 800 words. → Make first comment?
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May 22, In Angst, Bitter, Depression, Life, My own personal thoughts, Pain. 200 words. Friends only.
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Guest Book
1 - 4 of 16
Show all
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Korvair Blackheart : Greetings on May 30To have lived a live of such pain and misery and still be living shows great strength. To not act like your better than others while doing so shows even greater strength. I have a great respect for you. Though I have not suffered as you may I be a friend for I love helping people with problems of any sort. I do agree about the rediculous steriotyping idea. May you always find substance in the void of being. I wish you luck on your quest of life
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AloneForever- on May 27You seem really troubled for somebody of your age, but still you appear to be able to handle every problem that comes your way even if you fake it with a smile.
I'm Imani btw.
About self harm... Cutting, burning, all these things you can stop...or atleast pause. Shrinks may help or sometimes its just that inner strength. I know how good it feels when you're upset to let blood throw from an open wound. I know how nice it feels to feel something burning into your flesh just so the pain inside might go away just for a while. But undoubtedly the pain will come back, and although we may think that the hurting ourselves will make the pain go away, its just temporary pleasure.
I'm not trying to lecture you. I know how annoying it is for somebody to be down your throat all the time. What it is to be the odd one out. But I've found something better. Rather than letting the world defeat me, I thrive to beat the world, to show them that I too can be something, that i can make something of myself.
I hope you can come to me anytime you need help, whether it is to just talk or to help you with a poem.
Message me anytime you want
Nobody deserves to be treated like an outsider
signed:
iAmWhatYouDesire -
RawrSmileBabyPlz on May 26I love you
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Abandonedxx : HO! on May 20you took mah smiley.
