Average Grace Fingers pinch at the tips nerves scream nails scrape across rough wires voice strains on highs and lows muscles stiffen and burn neck aches no one I can see can hear me but my pain brings a circle of ghosts drawn to the history I share through song
11:42 p.m. You think you’re fed up with all these late-night haiku? Try writing them, pal.
I wrote this piece for Young Mormon Feminists but it totally applies to y’all, my original readers. Much love!
In recognition of September being National Suicide Prevention Month
Last year I got this close to killing myself, but I survived.
It hurts to talk, to think about the experience. I went to BYU for a semester and within a few months I was severely depressed—on the brink of suicide. My lifelong perfectionism had finally caught up with me, and it was tightening around my neck in an invisible noose. They were dark times, endless days of pain I can’t even put into words. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to wake up. There was no rest for my soul; not in prayer, in conversation, in closeness. An untouchable emptiness inside me itched constantly. I got headaches from clenching my teeth from anxiety. I moved through the days with a constant wish that a car would flatten me.
I made feeble attempts to live, one of which was joining a BYU therapy…
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(Hey, y'all, I wanted to try this form of blogging. It's probably a one-time thing.) I call myself Maney and I like to write. I'm learning guitar, I love ice cream, and sea otters are my favorite animals. I doodle so much it's not even funny. During school, during church, in my journal, etc. So … Continue reading Getting Doodley
Caught Staring An umbrella leans against a fence, staring at my bus on the road.