Lucifer's Hands

I wrote this poem when I was in a psych ward in July/August last year. I had reached out for help without extreme measures, and was heard - in a way. They were condescending and kicked me out after four days, but it was something. I was lying in bed there, thinking about my boyfriend. I've been asked how it's possible that he's helped me if I still struggle with the things I do even though I have him. This is what came of it. It might not be a big thing for others, but it is for me. It was originally written in my native language, so I'll include the original below the English translation.

Lucifer’s Hands 

Lucifer’s hands 

lay around my throat 

He tightened his grip, 

and made it impossible to breathe 

He created 

a chaos of thoughts and urges 

That ended with cuts and blood, 

pills, and all that followed 

I tried 

to run, escape, flee 

But he always caught up with me, 

and dragged me back into the abyss 

He trapped me 

in an eternal vicious circle 

The pain was the only way out, 

although it never lasted 

A slave 

of the forces of darkness 

All light was bygone, 

leaving only my biggest fear 

But then, 

you were there 

Reached out a hand, 

offered to listen 

From you, 

I received help when I fell 

You got me back on my feet 

without asking anything of me 

You, 

who also had suffered, 

you cared for me, 

without an ounce of selfishness 

And I 

wanted to give the fight another go 

More determined than before, 

for you 

For Lucifer’s hands 

lie around my throat 

But you made him 

loosen his grip

Lucifers hender 

Lucifers hender

lå rundt halsen min

Han strammet grepet

og gjorde det umulig å puste

Han skapte

et kaos av tanker og trang

Med følger som kutt og blod,

piller og alt som hørte med

Jeg prøvde

å løpe, rømme, flykte

Men han tok meg alltid igjen,

og dro meg ned i avgrunnen

Han fanget meg

i en evig ond sirkel

Smerten var eneste vei ut,

selv om det ikke varte

En slave

av mørkets krefter

Alt lyst var svunnet hen,

og etterlot kun min største frykt

Men så

sto du der

Rakte ut en hånd,

tilbød deg å lytte

Av deg

fikk jeg hjelp når jeg falt

Du stablet meg på beina,

uten å be om noe i gjengjeld

Du

som selv hadde lidd

tok meg til deg

uten noe egoisme i tankene

Og jeg

ville gi kampen et nytt forsøk

Mer bestemt enn før,

for din skyld

For Lucifers hender

ligger rundt halsen min

Men du fikk ham til

å løsne grepet 

"Attention-seeker"

Picture // Tumblr

"She's just doing it for attention."
"Ignore it, and she'll stop eventually. If you give her attention, she'll just keep doing it."

Things I hear all the time regarding my self harm, suicidal thoughts and actions, and my other mental issues. Things I hear from friends and read online - not about myself, but about others.

Yes, I do want attention. Is that such a bad thing? Why is it that wanting attention has become so negative, such a derogatory term?

I've been ignored and put down my whole life, so much that I even prefer negative attention rather than being invisible. If I had the option between being beaten, and being ignored completely, I'd choose the first. I've provoked people into hitting me.Terrifying, but still better options than being ignored. It was better than being invisible.

Yes, I am partly doing what I'm doing to myself for attention. Not because I want people to pity me or baby me, but because I want someone to really see how much pain I'm in. Because I want someone to acknowledge my issues for what they are. Because I need love and attention and encouragement, just like anyone else.

No, I will not stop if people keep ignoring me. Quite the contrary, I'll scream louder and louder in the only ways I know of - worse behaviour, worse cuts, worse overdoses, worse suicide attempts. It's true that I get encouraged to keep destroying myself from the attention I've gotten after overdoses and suicide attempts, but only because the kind of attention I've been given has reinforced the fact that I need to do these things to be seen. If they had listened to my words, I wouldn't have to take to such extreme action.

I need reassurance. I need to understand that I can be seen and heard - using words alone. I need someone to hear what I say before I do something really bad. I need someone to see and hear what my thoughts can make me do - before I do it. I need people to care. I need people to encourage my recovery and utter concern for the reasons behind what I've done if I first do something drastic.

Wanting attention is not a bad thing. It's human nature. Babies scream and cry to get it if they're ignored.

"S/he just cuts for attention."

"His/her problems aren't real."

"Attention-seeker."

In my opinion, people who say things like that, their voices condescending and filled with venom, are ignorant. Who can decide what problems are real or not? Do they not understand how much pain someone has to be in to drag a blade across their own skin? Even if it's "just for attention", if someone is so desperate to be seen and for someone to care that they permanently scar their own bodies, isn't that a sign that something is wrong?

I do not cut only for attention (I could list almost a dozen reasons, and I will in a later entry), but it's one of them. For people to see my pain. Until I learn that it's okay to not do it, that people still see me and my problems, it will probably remain one of the reasons.