This is a poem I wrote 4 years ago, it is about my suicide attempt at 16. Don't worry, I am not suicidal right now, this is just a glimpse into the past. This is the first of my bipolar poems that I am sharing on this blog. I only have a few, but I do have poems on many more subjects...some of which I will probably share at some point.
The Procession to the Misplacement of a Mind, and Halfway Back, in Two Parts
By Christina
I.
Walking to that long winding bridge,
Teetering over salt flat, marshy waters,
Bottle of pills grasped in fist,
One, two, how many taken now?
His slap still burns my cheek,
Ten, eleven, how many left now?
The sulfur odor washes over me
To float in the James River,
Released, I will drift like refuse,
Lungs becoming waterlogged, weighted down,
My hand has started shaking,
Harder now to open pills,
Antidepressants are supposed to heal,
Hate myself, going to kill,
Steps tripping faster toward edge,
Can not wait to fall,
Welcomed back by, water’s embrace,
Missed me from the womb,
So easy to let go,
My feet are heavy,
Hands can hardly fumble,
Twenty seven, Forty three....
Blurring vision smears sky,
View is almost gone,
Sun nearly does set,
Nothing more to watch,
Stinging slap comes back,
Where am I?
Will they come?
Stop and stare,
Incomplete overdose-done.
Whole body convulses,
Jerking head, twitching,
can no longer,
see the bridge,
losing my sight,
heavy breath,
pounding heart,
swaying drunkenly,
ground shifts,
spilling pills,
into stomach,
Sixty. “Gulp.”
Better now.
Licking lips...
Who...
passes...
on...
the...
road...
coming...
to...
take...
me?
II.
Shivers
Uncontrollably
Forced to the hospital doors,
It will be different here.
White walls close in.
“Were you lovers?” she asks again.
I drank the charcoal,
Rocks of tar in my belly,
Yum.
I met a boy there,
who put a knife through,
his entire hand
What a scar
After striking me
the other one
played the guitar
Was it cold?
I don’t remember Newport News,
Virginia, I hate the state,
but wanted to drift,
Like Woolf in a river,
River of James,
Edge of swamp and city,
I am dry above your waters
Life claimed me that day,
But I was never the same
Ever since that time
Ever since the fall I had,
the one I took,
When I misplaced my mind.
The Procession to the Misplacement of a Mind, and Halfway Back, in Two Parts
By Christina
I.
Walking to that long winding bridge,
Teetering over salt flat, marshy waters,
Bottle of pills grasped in fist,
One, two, how many taken now?
His slap still burns my cheek,
Ten, eleven, how many left now?
The sulfur odor washes over me
To float in the James River,
Released, I will drift like refuse,
Lungs becoming waterlogged, weighted down,
My hand has started shaking,
Harder now to open pills,
Antidepressants are supposed to heal,
Hate myself, going to kill,
Steps tripping faster toward edge,
Can not wait to fall,
Welcomed back by, water’s embrace,
Missed me from the womb,
So easy to let go,
My feet are heavy,
Hands can hardly fumble,
Twenty seven, Forty three....
Blurring vision smears sky,
View is almost gone,
Sun nearly does set,
Nothing more to watch,
Stinging slap comes back,
Where am I?
Will they come?
Stop and stare,
Incomplete overdose-done.
Whole body convulses,
Jerking head, twitching,
can no longer,
see the bridge,
losing my sight,
heavy breath,
pounding heart,
swaying drunkenly,
ground shifts,
spilling pills,
into stomach,
Sixty. “Gulp.”
Better now.
Licking lips...
Who...
passes...
on...
the...
road...
coming...
to...
take...
me?
II.
Shivers
Uncontrollably
Forced to the hospital doors,
It will be different here.
White walls close in.
“Were you lovers?” she asks again.
I drank the charcoal,
Rocks of tar in my belly,
Yum.
I met a boy there,
who put a knife through,
his entire hand
What a scar
After striking me
the other one
played the guitar
Was it cold?
I don’t remember Newport News,
Virginia, I hate the state,
but wanted to drift,
Like Woolf in a river,
River of James,
Edge of swamp and city,
I am dry above your waters
Life claimed me that day,
But I was never the same
Ever since that time
Ever since the fall I had,
the one I took,
When I misplaced my mind.
This poem always gets me... I know that bridge well and used to drive over it 3 or 4 times a week most months. To know that this bridge, a bottle of pills, and some mistreating people almost prevented me from meeting you... it freaks me out. I am so glad you were rescued, and that you can share your poetry with us all, and share your life with me. I love you.
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