TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of bullying, self-harm, suicide, and egging someone on to end their life
Day Four
He found my pills in a bag one day
And asked what they were for, in a curious way
When I confessed I didn’t want to live anymore
He called me an idiot, his anger soared
He said he could go back to jail for my plan
It’s a felony to help someone end their own life
And he screamed in my face
Calling me a child, a disgrace
The cuts on my legs, he said were just child’s play
And told me I was insane, hoping I’d give in to his dismay
He never told anyone what he said to me that day
But deep down, he wanted me to die, as his words would convey
I felt alone and so broken, in that moment so dark
But I vowed to find the strength to make a new start
To seek help and support from those who truly care
And leave behind the toxic words that linger in the air
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 ex-fiancé was quite similar to my mother, in the words he used to insult, degrade, and belittle me. He found the bag of pills I'd been saving for a few months for, "the day." He asked me what they were for. I told him, "I plan on killing myself with them." He gave me a look that I've seen all too often, and I knew something bad was coming.
"Are you fucking retarded? I could go back to jail for this. It's a felony to have mixed pills in a bag. You're a fucking retard. You fucking retarded cunt. What the fuck is wrong with you? You have no respect for anyone but yourself. Just fucking do it already. God, I hope you fucking die you retarded little child. Grow the fuck up. Just fucking die already, no one will give a shit about a little retard anyway." There was more too, but those are what stick in my head the most. As those are the words I was used to hearing.
When it came to the deep, infected cuts on my legs, he'd speak to me in the same manner. I remember asking him if he'd go to counseling with me, but his response was always, "I'm not the one who needs counseling. You're the little retard that likes hurting herself and threatening people with suicide. You're a fucking idiot and you're the one that needs help." He repeatedly told me I was crazy, insane, and that he didn't give two shits if I lived or died. But then the next day he'd be holding my hand, telling me he loves me and we're gonna make this work, and that he'll do whatever it takes.
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