Day Eight
In the quiet of the empty room
No visitors, no one to lift the gloom
Alone and stranded, no one to take me home
A cry for help, in the silence, I roam
I called my son’s father, seeking aid
But his words, like a sharp blade
“Where’s your fiancé?” he asked coldly
No care, no concern, a heart so boldly
My love at work, too busy to see
The pain, the anguish inside of me
No questions asked, no empathy shown
Feeling lost, in a world of my own
Fresh out of the nightmare, the darkness so deep
A longing to escape, to find my sleep
Alone in my sorrow, wanting release
From the earth’s grasp, to find my peace
In the depths of despair, a flicker of light
A hope that shines in the darkest night
May the clouds part, the sun to shine
In the moments of darkness, a love divine
If you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, please reach out to the crisis text line. You can text #988, or you can follow this link.
My mother never came to visit me, so I knew I couldn't call her for a ride home. My ex-fiancé was working and too busy to deal with me, and really, I had no friends at this point because I was so isolated from everyone, that the only person I could think of to call for a ride home after my suicide attempt, was my son's father. The hospital wouldn't let me go home unless I had a ride. So like the poem says, he asked where (Name kept private) was, but in an irritated tone. He did, however, come get me and take me home. Looking back now, I feel so bad. Because only a man that was once in love with you would do that, for everything that had happened over the years, and I never loved him. I'm still to this day, working on getting over the ex before him, which has consumed my mind all these years. I do feel bad. I wish I had processed my ex before I met my son's father. We could've had something super special, but I never loved him. At this point, I'm not even sure I know what love is anymore. At least not in a romantic sense.
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