Untitled by Joyce Savage

Every morning, I put on my armour,
To protect me from their poisoned tongues,
Each arrow pierces my soul,
With each one I die a little more each day,
How much dying can one take till they are truly dead?

I am not full of life,
I am not dead,
I am numb and feel nothing.
I am past feeling the pain,
Eventually you don’t feel anymore.
How does one feel so hollow, so empty?
A shell of a person?
How do you get past pain to nothingness?
How do you feel less than nothing?
What a curse it is,
To take on the world’s pain upon your shoulders,
Their anger, their fear,
To feel the darkness of a million souls,
All screaming in your head,
And filling your heart.
To feel it as your own.
And you can never stop the floodgate of emotions that wash over you,
Consuming you,
Draining you.
Dragon flames licking at your heels,
As you try to climb out of the hell that’s your life,
Only to be pulled back by your demons to be tortured anew,
When will it end?

Joyce Savage is a 45 years old woman currently in recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). She is married with two children, ages 12 and 16, and enjoys writing, crocheting, photography and baking. Find her blogging at Make BPD Stigma-Free and on Facebook where she works to raise awareness of BPD and help erase stigma.

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