Was once told that maybe no one could feel like me

Lately I have thought that I do not feel like me

The deep ridges of my fingertips

That I carved so recklessly

Have filled in

Every thing I touched knew

That my id was suffering

Now I am nothing

My tornadoes are ending

And the hurricanes recede

Wondered if the Sun would show

But these pregnant clouds will not leave

I can feel the pores of my skin pool

With their stagnant warm water

But is it not in stale ponds

Where the most harmful bacteria grow

I visited my friend recently

I could feel myself personifying it

Thinking life into every branch and leaf

It told me I looked well watered

I could not tell it that I had been crying

But I think it knew

I sat in it’s shade

Pressed the bark against my skull

Let it tell me about all it had seen

There is rebar sticking through the tree

I dare not ask

But I wonder if it had been stabbed

Or if it grew around it

Undeterred by obstacles

I often have to say out loud “Don’t hurt yourself.” in the middle of making a decision that will harm me in order to stop. It feels like I am walking in on someone else in my body. I am both invader and the invaded. I will be in control and out of it. I am present and yet after telling myself out loud to stop I am more present than I had been just before. Maybe I am the stranger in my body and the voice that says to stop isn’t mine.

I can not even say for sure if other people feel this way. My first thought is that this is not an unusual experience and that I am, in the drama of my mental state, making it more than it is. However I could very well be in flux. Constantly phasing between self-love and self-hatred. I can only speak to my own experience and even then barely.

I want to say that I am doing better and it not feel like I am lying.

I don’t hold things sacred often. But I drive by this tree everyday. Seeing it in the morning and in the evening used to be a point of shame for me. This tree is a five minute walk from my house. One year ago I walked out to this tree and I sat underneath it with my gun for several hours. I cried and screamed and was the closest I had ever been to commiting suicide. I had only loaded a single round into the magazine and when it felt like my head was splitting open I shot the gun into the ground and threw up. I voluntarily gave the gun to a close friend for until I’m healthier. Back then the grass was overgrown, there were pieces of rebar and the tree was bare from the cold weather. It’s now well kept as they are planning to sell the land. The last few weeks driving by this tree has been a comfort. It’s now a marker that I have had 365 victories in a row. I have been if only in this one aspect of my life successful. I don’t normally condone the marking of trees and stuff since they’re living but I made a small exception. This tree is sacred to me because I live. I don’t have a bright follow up message but I’m alive today and I’m thankful for that.