Me – Page 8 – AO Poetry

Changes

I know changes are inevitable, but to me they’re a death sentence.

If I haven’t already stated this to you all… I have Borderline Personality Disorder and it involves issues revolving around abandonment. So when I know changes in my life will happen, I experience an overwhelming amount of dread and anxiety… especially when losing someone is a possibility.

To me the idea of losing someone feels like my entire world is being wiped away. I feel like I don’t know how to function knowing they’ll be gone and that there’s no point in living without them in my life. It’s basically like an appendage has been forcibly removed from me and I’ve been told to just move on… like a metaphorical amputation. 😉

Now I’ve done the homework, the therapy, all the bullshit… and no matter what I tell myself… I struggle. I fucking struggle over and over and over… And now I’m here. Struggling once more.

I know (I fucking know) I need to worry less about being abandoned and focus more on trusting people to stay in my life… but pushing past the intrusive thoughts is seemingly impossible.

I guess what I really need to figure out is how to trust people to stay with me… Even though I feel underserved of that privilege…

I’ll take whatever advice/wisdom you all offer.

-Hal

March 18, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My ThoughtsTags: Abandonment, BPD, Change, Me, Meh, Metaphorical amputations, Thoughts 35 Comments

Guests

Like unwanted party guests 
the thoughts arrive, 
casually striding in together 
to fuck with my mind. 

They're compulsive, intrusive, 
and highly erratic, 
depressive, manipulative, 
and obscenely manic. 

They've had no invite 
or welcoming at all, 
yet they play in my head 
like a reckless free-for-all. 

They'll take what they can 
until they've had enough, 
while I watch from the corner 
sitting silently in disgust. 

For I can't get them out 
or exonerate their presence, 
so patiently I just wait 
for their eventual evanescence.

March 17, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Emotions, fucked, I think this one's good, Me, Mind games, Parties, Poetry, Thoughts 8 Comments

Helpless/Hopeless

Helpless, 
she lays awake 
in the dangers 
of darkness with 
a lonely mind 
trying to rebel. 

Hopeless, 
she forces sleep 
upon herself to 
prevent the outcome 
that she knows 
all too well.

February 18, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Bed, Forced, fuck, Lay vs. lie, Me, Melatonin vs. depression, Poetry, Sleep, Who will win? 12 Comments

Envy


Green irises 
remain fixated 
in a state of 
obscene envy. 
 
Glassy 
and glaring, 
they stare 
motionless 
and resentful. 

Absorbing the 
coveted details 
they'll never see 
when they look 
at themselves.

February 17, 2023October 8, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Coveted, Desires, Details, Dreams, Envy, fuck, Jealousy, Me, Poetry 7 Comments

Anomalies

We're here, 
you and me, 
two miniscule 
anomalies. 

Created through chance 
and brought together 
by luck.

January 28, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Chance, Luck, Me, Poetry, Us, You 11 Comments

In-Between

What happens when you’ve found yourself stuck in some kind of limbo of satisfaction with who you are?

I’ve repeatedly found myself torn between completely loving or hating myself. There is rarely an in-between for me. There are moments when I’m so proud of the work I’ve done, where I’ve gotten, and who I’ve become. In those moments I truly and wholeheartedly love myself… But those feelings don’t tend to last very long.

It’s like my brain flips a depression switch and I’m back to hating myself. I feel like I’m not enough, I’m not worth it, I shouldn’t be here, my existence is pointless… Blah blah blah. I’m left feeling 102% unsatisfied and disappointed in where I still am and who I think i should be. Touché to mental sabotage…

I just don’t know what to do to fix this anymore. The only thing I feel like I can do at this point is let it happen, ride it out, and hope the self-love lasts longer than the hate.

Time heals… I get that. Personal effort and growth is key… Yeah sure. But will time and effort really be able to invoke complete love for myself? Or do all of us just learn to tolerate and cope with ourselves enough to survive?

January 25, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My ThoughtsTags: Borderline, BPD, Does anyone actually read the tags?, fucked, Hate, I promise, I swear I'm not suicidal though, love, Me, Mental, Touché

Heat

Heat radiates 
through the gap 
separating our bodies... 
 
Penetrating 
and prickling 
my skin in waves of 
uninterrupted static 
through too-thin fabric. 

Warmth travels 
unabated as it seeps 
and spreads 
from your flesh 
up into my chest... 

My body now hot 
as I try to catch 
my breath.

January 14, 2023December 7, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Desire, Feeling, Heat, Me, Need, Poetry, Touch 5 Comments

Viridian

I never settled on gray... 

I settled on viridian. 

I settled on a 
romanticized intensity 
seeped in tender 
sophistication, 
in hopes to cloak 
the darkness and 
cravings for desolation...

December 19, 2022 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Craving, Darkness, Envy, Gray, Me, Mildly Fucked, Poetry, Viridian 16 Comments

Temporary

If I'm not fought for, 
then I know I'm just a moment.  

A moment in your life 
when you needed someone 
and I was there.   

A phase...  

A chapter...  

A temporary filler 
for whatever hole 
you couldn't manage 
to fill yourself.  

Used, released, and left to question 
everything I must have done wrong.

December 14, 2022 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Friends, Me, Past, People, Phases, Poetry, Used 17 Comments

Existential

Sometimes I feel like I’m just not supposed to be here.

I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure if my idea of ‘here’ means this lifetime, world, or body… but at times I just feel so disconnected from my own reality. I can’t seem to figure out exactly who I am or where I want to be, but somehow know that my life is screaming mediocracy.

Part of me believes that I could be living some exceptional life if I was anywhere else. Like if I had just played my cards right… if I had followed my dreams… maybe I could have been extraordinary. It’s like I’ve personally somehow robbed myself of having a more desirable, purposeful identity. I mean don’t get me wrong… I’m grateful for everything I have in my life… but the part of me having an existential crisis right now is also pissed that it all feels so meaningless. I sit here alive and thriving, yet still considering myself a pile of confused nothingness. Meh.

So… yeah… that about wraps up my rant about my existence possibly being a mistake. Thanks for taking the time to read my dissociative thoughts. 🖤

-Hal

December 5, 2022December 5, 2022 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My ThoughtsTags: #Mildamountsofdepression, Are dinosaurs really extinct?, Existential Crisis, fucked, Me, Mindblown, What is life?, Who the fuck am I?, Why do carbs have to be so bad?