The Day After I Relapsed

The day after I relapsed,

I went quietly about life.

I showered in cold water

And I ate a bagel with cream cheese

For breakfast.

The day after I relapsed,

I held back tears as the water

Ran down my legs and stung

My cuts, and I covered my face

When Momma bandaged them.

The day after I relapsed,

I skipped lunch. 

I skipped my evening shower.

I skipped talking.

I skipped writing.

The day after I relapsed,

I wanted to die.

I thought about finding

The key to the med box and

Taking all the pills I could grab.

The day after I relapsed,

I downed an entire bottle of

Sparkling cider, and I

Went to watch my brother’s

Baseball game. He lost.

The day after I relapsed,

I told myself it wasn’t that bad,

They weren’t as deep as last time. (I lied)

I ran my hands over my skin

To feel what I’d done to myself.

The day after I relapsed,

I stood in front of the mirror

With my pants off.

I listened to the harshness

Of the silence and thoughts.

The day after I relapsed,

I didn’t look anyone in the eye

And I walked slowly because

The bandages chafe if you

Carry too much weight.

The day after I relapsed,

I woke up and stared at the

Ceiling, at the clock,

Anything to keep from looking

At the blood on my hands.

The day after I relapsed,

I woke up and I

Breathed.

It was over.

That had to be it.

(It wasn’t)