I cannot breathe,
My body brings me down onto my knee,
Why do we have to go through this again,
As my heart beats at a ten.
I am one in one hundred,
The woman who’s forced to see red,
I am not one in four,
I can’t go through this anymore.
I cannot bring myself to eat,
My body thrashes around in my sleep,
“It’s all your own fault,”
Erupts out of my memory vault.
I am one in one hundred,
The woman who is forced to see red,
I am not one in four,
I can’t go through this anymore.
I cannot see,
I stare straight into my tea,
“What’s the point in anything?”
I have become the bird with the broken wing.
I am one in one hundred,
The woman who is forced to see red,
I am not one in four,
I cannot take this anymore.
Time begins to pass,
The people begin to fast,
I am still one in one hundred,
The woman who is forced to see red.
I wrote this just after I found out I’d had my third miscarriage, I still feel riddled with grief, but the guilt is leaving me.
Had my first therapy session since this happened, my therapist has made me realise that the guilt is not healthy.
I felt guilty after every bad thing that happened to me, but it’s not healthy for me. It wasn’t my fault.
It’s easy to blame yourself when you have no answers, and I’ve become a master at it.
I’ve became so good at blaming myself that it’s the first thing I do when anything bad happens.
Rape, abuse, loss, I blame myself for all of it, because it’s easier than dealing with my problems.
I think it’s time I put a stop to it, it’s not helping me to move on, and it hurts me more than anything I’ve went through.
