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The Battle in Me: Chapter 13Shepard reached up to a hand to rub her aching temples. The noise of the shooting range was not only defining but setting every fiber of her being on edge. More than on edge. It had three days since her discussion with Chakwas and her stress levels were through the roof. The amount of anxiety was comparable to how she felt before a battle but with none of the satisfying and entertaining rewards that a battle contained. Both Liara and the doctor insisted that recovery was worth it in the end but Shepard her doubts. She had successfully completed Chakwas’s first task for her; taking her daily medication. It was hard getting used to swallowing the pills, even with water she could feel them catch in the back of her throat before slithering down. And the side effects still continued, of course. Shepard’s short term memory was shot, though she was starting to suspect that it was the result of one of her multitude of injuries rather than being from the medication.
But now she had
The Battle in Me: Chapter 12“What are you afraid of?”
Shepard was sitting in Chakwas’s new makeshift office in one of the spare bedrooms of the hotel suite. The doctor had come over that morning after receiving the Commander’s urgent text the night before and had set up shop instantly. Chakwas had made herself comfortable in an armchair with a pad of paper and pen and had insisted that Shepard take the bed. Their sitting situation was a crude replica of the stereotypical setup for a therapist’s office which was somewhat amusing Shepard as she glanced around the room, trying to delay answering the question. As she made note of the contents of the room, she noticed that Chakwas had switched her usual drink of Serrice Ice Brandy to a glass of water, a comforting gesture of solidarity that put her mind at ease. That is, of course, until she realized that the small talk and light banter had ceased and Chakwas had asked her such a loaded question.
“I’m afraid of…”
Reminders of Mended Skinthe marks on my skin is not a fashion statement
the feeling of my skin splitting apart is not meant to be envied
no handsome boy will kiss your scars and read sad poetry with you
it does not make you a diamond in the rough
it does not make you that beautiful sad girl
you’ll just end up like me
crying because you can’t let your girlfriend see you in your underwear
scared she’ll leave you when she sees them
because no one needs that much baggage
thrust upon them after a month
WavesSometimes when I stand on the shore
And I feel the waves begin to lap at my feet
Because I don’t know how quickly the tide will recede
If it will take a minute, an hour, a day
Or if they’ll increase in strength and pull me back into the sea
That I worked so hard to swim out of
The Battle in Me: Chapter 11“What do you mean you killed your mother?” There was a momentary flash of something in Liara’s eyes that Shepard couldn’t quite put her finger on. Though only there for a second, it was something that Shepard had never seen directed at her but there was the smallest amount of familiarity behind it. Suddenly the identification of the emotion came to the Commander. It was wariness with the slightest hint of distrust. A pit of emotion opened in Shepard’s gut even though the essence of caution had disappeared in half a heartbeat and was replaced by Liara’s now common expression of concern.
Shepard swallowed to loosen the lump in her throat before she worked up the courage to speak. Anything to push that memory of the short-lived fear she had created in Liara. “I don’t like to talk about my past. And if I do it’s vague to say the least. You know that I grew up on Earth and that I was part of gang. The leader of a gang. All before I joine
The Battle in Me: Chapter 10Liara sat on the bed with a book in her lap next to the form a sleeping Shepard. The asari tried to focus on the novel in front of her but the words seemed to swim in her version and she could not make sense of them for the life of her. Finally in frustration she shut the book and put it on the nightstand next to her.
It was impossible to focus after the incident that had happened that morning. Shepard had broken down almost instantly after Joker had stormed out and Liara had taken it upon herself to comfort the Commander. She wasn’t used to dealing with so many emotions from Shepard who was usually stoic regarding her own feelings. The Commander went through a fantastical array of reactions; first sadness and grief followed by anger which was immediately followed by wave after wave of guilt. The emotions eventually took a toll on her physical state and she collapsed into the dining room chair, shaking with emotional exertion.
At that moment Liara didn’t know how to react a
HushabyHush little baby.
Take the knife out of your hand
and leave your pretty unblemished skin alone.
No need to split your skin.
No need to paint your body with your blood.
Hush my child.
Lay your blade down, little girl.
Hold my hand tight.
Pass your pain to me for your shoulders are far too small
to bare the weight alone.
Nail PolishBlack fingernails
Like pools of oil puddled on the fingertips
Light catches and makes the pitch shine.
Dark beauty within painted voids
Rotate the finger, watch the shiny spot revolve
Poets and ParadoxesTo be a poet is an endless paradox,
A constant contradiction of your thoughts
And division of your soul.
Paper cuts will scar your skin,
And fill your ink well up with blood
So you have no choice but to write from your heart.
It means you cry and lie
And lay awake each night
Thinking of new ways and new words
To hurt you and heal you all at once.
It makes it so that the beat of the stanzas
Is a heartbeat,
Hammering in time with your own
And speaking to you about every moment
That you have been compelled to pen.
It means breaking yourself apart
Into ink and sharp shards
Small enough not to cut anyone
And maybe those foolish and wonderful enough
To try piecing you together.
This mask i wear.
This mask i wear for you.
This act i put.
This act i put on for you.
Why do i do this for you, its not for me....It who you want me to be
Personal InterrogationWhere is the line between love and obsession?
What is the difference between ignorance and oppression?
Is there such as too much affection?
As each person we are, can there be perfection?
When in our longing escape we from depression?
How to expunge ourselves of subconscious connection?
Milk and BloodWe are terrified monsters and helpless gods.
To look in the mirror and gaze upon no beauty,
to walk upon silk and thistles
is the weakness of beasts of irony;
they wander through the labyrinth
slipping on pools of milk and blood,
remembering only the burning in their throats
Down those same throats they pour tar
silencing their own voice.
Why must we sow salt in our own soil
and complain of poor harvest?
Do they not think, acting on every fucking impulse?
Because we are fools.
Because we are human.
Just Lie To MeTell me that love is over rated.
That it isn't want it is made out to be.
That it is painful and hurtful.
Tell me that love isn't what I want.
Tell me that I shouldn't fixate on this dream.
That a relationship will suddenly fix my imperfections.
It won't fill the void that depression has caused.
It won't give me the courage do things.
It won't heal the scars I've caused.
Tell me love isn't want I need.
Tell me I'm selfish for wanting it,
Selfish for want to make a person love a girl who wants to be dead.
Tell me I shouldn't fall in love.
Tell me I'm not hurting anyone that way.
Tell me that there is no one that could ever match the man, the person who saves me in my dreams.
I thought I'd given up on love,
But I keep missing that romance that has never, and never will be there...
I'm missing that life I need...
I love you
I extend my hand towards you,
tears running down my face.
I run as fast as I can,
but you are always out of my reach.
Just one last touch.
Just one last hug.
Just one last I love you.
Suddenly, you are gone.
In the blink of an eye, you are gone.
I collapse on my knees.
Crying to the heavens above...
Why couldn't I say I love you...
one last time...
before you were gone forever...
FearFear and distress have filled me whole
Of all the things I can't control,
And though the present is oh so near,
The past has come and it's so clear.
Broken pieces of a maze,
Memories that can never be replaced,
And so I fled but now I fear
The lies I told myself aren't real.
Sometimes I hide and it's okay,
The things have really gone away,
But often the scars call my name,
So I can never forget the pain.
I've grown strong and facing ahead,
Though I may not seem prepared
To be the woman that they seem to know
But this time I won't let the fear show.
SmileInspiration: "Sometimes you just have to smile, pretend everythings okay, hold back
the tears, and walk away."
They're laughing with you
Because you're happy
The moment's sappy
His love was never true
It wasn't ever, ever to you
To pretend you're okay
To hold back the tears
To hide your fears
When you walk away
CEO vs The BoardMy mental illnesses are a board of directors
Overseeing my vast and complicated brain as if it were a company.
Anxiety is the guy who was hired to be creative,
To come up with all the what-ifs, the hypotheticals.
He's rarely right but they all think he's good to have around.
The CEO disagrees.
Bipolar is a scatterbrained woman who's always the last
To make up her mind
And most of time after she does, she changes it.
Often more than once.
She's an inconvenience but they all think she's good to have around.
The CEO disagrees.
PTSD has a photographic memory and she never forgets
An event, a word, a smell, a feeling
The most random thing will remind her of one of these
And she doesn't hesitate to bring them up at the most inopportune of times.
She's annoying and distracting but they all think she's good to have around.
The CEO disagrees.
Depression is the head of the board who feeds off the actions of all the others
Then twists them around and makes it all about him,
how it made him feel s
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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