Dear Diary: A Spoken word Poetry

In lieu of my Mental Health Awareness Campaign, The Butterfly Effect, I was invited by a friend, campaigning for the same thing, for her spoken word event tomorrow, February 12th. Unprepared I made a last-minute piece that aims to make people aware how people who don’t show physical signs of mental illness aren’t always alright.

via Daily Prompt: Aware



Dear Diary
I was told writing down my emotions
would help me
so I tried to keep a diary
at the age of Twenty.
I wanted to write down
exactly how I felt
but somehow
the paper stayed empty
and I could not have
described it
any better
but then I remembered
I was thirteen
when I first knew how it felt to cut skin
carving out my initials on my left elbow
while all my friends did the same
we didn’t know what serious trouble we’d get into
that day, I felt sick.
I was fourteen when I had my first panic attack
in the maid’s room
ironing my P.E. uniform
dreading about the annual physical fitness test
i had to take the next day
while all my friends were doing jetes and flips
I felt sick.
I was fifteen when I first cried myself to sleep
for being the class joke. for not fitting in
while all my friends were holding hands and
gushing about their first boyfriends
I felt sick.
I was sixteen when I found out my dad was sick with cancer
I was mad and in denial but I was secretly wishing
if he’d die, i’d die.
while all my friends had a taste of their first
rum cola
i felt sick.
I was seventeen when I felt normal again
I’d cry
I’d sleep
I’d cry again
while all my friends were busy planning about college,
I felt sick.
I was eighteen when I tried cutting myself
at around 11:37 I would take out the sharp 3-peso blade
and slice my thighs thinking it’d shrink
or at least would make my mom notice it
it didn’t
while all my friends wore gowns and
celebrated their 18th birthday,
I felt sick.
I was nineteen when I had my first cigarette.
and another one
and another one
to which eventually led me to buying a pack more
It definitely felt better than marking my body
with lines
while all my friends lost their virginities to
one night stands, sneaking out to get wasted
and occasionally forcing to throw up their dinners
I joined them.
I felt sick that it became a daily reminder
that I am not fine.
I just wanted it to stop.
At twenty I learned to seek for help
Some worked
Some didn’t
I feel sick.
I am sick.
And so I flipped over the Moleskin
staring at a clean page
and wrote down:
“dear diary
was a good day.”


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