I Have Been Dead Before

I have been dead before.
There was no funeral, no obituary, no grave,
But I promise you I was dead.
There was no last beat, no final breath, no farewell,
There was no ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ with a sympathetic smile.
But I promise you – I was dead.
There was no more life to be found within me,
I was a ghost, living, existing, but I was not alive.
I promise you.

I floated through one box to the other,
Four walled encasings with no color, no significance,
Just lines and scribbles and lights that couldn’t get me out of the dark.
There were bodies around, and I would watch as their mouths moved,
And their words fell and dropped to the ground,
Having nothing meaningful to hold them afloat.
I watched as they ignited on the ground,
A jumble of letters that I couldn’t seem to piece into a sentence.
They burned and smelt like death.
I wonder if I smelt like death.
I know I looked it.

My thoughts would consume me.
I was a vampire; my soul had long exited my so called body.
If that’s what it was anymore.
It felt like air, it felt empty.
I felt empty.
I liked empty.
I was nothing.
My bones protruded out in all different directions,
Trying to escape the demon within my skull.
They pulled me all around the compass,
Never being able to settle with the reflection I produced.
I was dead – I promise you.

The lights had gone out.
Everything had been switched to ‘Off’ with a giant
‘OUT OF ORDER’
Sign written in blood stained lettering.
My hands were cold as ice,
My skin a dull and lifeless gray.
My teeth eroded down to the nub.
My once long strawberry gold hair no longer grew,
But rather fell, in clumps, as the steaming shower burned my scalp.
They say your hair still grows even after you die,
So what did that make me?
I was deader than dead.

My head was in the toilet more than it was on my pillow,
For my stinging eyes could no longer find the will to sleep.
Despite the fact that my body was overcome with weakness,
Despite the fact that I was dead.

People would try to confront me –
People I vaguely remembered loving once,
Or caring for.
But dead people don’t care about anyone,
Not their mothers, their friends, or their teachers.
Dead people only care about keeping themselves dead.
Dead people don’t understand why people care for them, either.
I don’t deserve love.
I wish they would shut up and leave me alone.
Dead people twist themselves into webs of lies, like
“I already ate,” or “I’ve just been exercising.”
Or “Yes I still get my period.”
When my monthly friend is actually my enemy,
A sure sign of failure that I am not working hard enough.
So I will punish myself even more so than before,
I will not fail again.

There is a ringing in my ears,
The old me, whoever that was,
Knows what this means.
Ringing ears and muscle spasms,
And the way my heart punches me in the night.
My body and I have an abusive relationship.
My body screams all the signs of low potassium,
My body cries out for nourishment and water,
And I torture and tease its pathetic whines.
My body knows it will give up soon.
I know too, but I don’t care.
Because dead people don’t care about death.
I promise you that.

They wheeled that dead frail body of mine to the ER,
And strapped me to cold icy metal,
And attatched me to a needle filled with life.
The evil within me jumped, and my body forced itself upwards,
I saw as my skin twitched, as though a bug was under the surface,
Gnawing away, trying to outrun the medicine which was flowing through my veins,
Like fire, burning me up, sending me out.
Life feels like Death to a dead girl.
Vacant white coats without faces surrounded me,
Reducing me to a mouse in a maze,
As they watched curiously, wondering why I couldn’t find the cheese.
I was dead,
And Doctors love to study dead people.

They are throwing up words of,
“Her heart is damaged, she should have died,
Her electrolytes were depleted, she’s lucky to be alive.”
And mother is weeping in the corner,
As father dazes off into space.
They can’t take this away from me,
I won’t let them.
Dead girls think they have a choice of going to rehab.
They don’t.

So they ship me off to a locked facility,
Where bathrooms are locked and rooms are filmed.
And girls are forced to swallow food,
As nurses watch and scribble down in their notes.
There are tissue boxes everywhere,
But a Dead girl like me doesn’t cry,
And a dead girl like me won’t swallow their bull.
Therapists spill words of ‘disorders’ and ‘emotion’
And interrogate me about a past I don’t remember.
All I know is my reflection doesn’t look so dead anymore,
And my bones are beginning to retreat inwards,
As fat covers over them like a disgusting blanket.

One day something confusing happens.
The woman with the sparkling life filled eyes finds me,
The real me, tied up in the shadows of abuse,
Handcuffed tightly to guilt and shame,
And self blame that was never rightfully aimed.
She produces the key, and releases me from my past.
Suddenly my mouth is moving and stories are falling out onto the floor,
And the woman cleans each mess up with me;
Reframing each belief, processing each moment of weakness.
And suddenly being alive is not so bad.
Suddenly being alive feels, tastes, sounds..
Good.
I promise you.

I used to be dead,
But I’m not dead anymore.
I am filled with every single color,
Apple reds, sunset orange, and Daffodil yellow.
I am stained all over with Grassy Greens,
And my eyes sparkle the ocean blue once more.
My laugh dances around in violet hues,
Splattering the ones I love with glee.
I have been dead before,
But I will never be dead again,
I promise you.
I promise you.
Most importantly -
I promised me.