deepundergroundpoetry.com
The First Time
I was 6 when I first recognized what anxiety felt like.
I was 8 the first time I looked at myself and noticed my imperfections.
When I was 10, I began to criticize my actions and appearance.
I was 11 the first time I cried as I stared into the mirror,
11 when my parents separated;
When I decided I needed to be perfect.
I was 12 the first time I made myself throw up
and made my legs bleed with a pencil;
12 when my sister tried to kill herself, twice. I blamed myself.
13, a knife;
14, a razor. Still no one had a clue.
14 when I found out my little breakdowns were called panic attacks;
That I had an anxiety disorder.
14 when I first drank alcohol.
I was 14 the first time I melted plastic into my own skin.
I was 15 when one of my best friends died in a tragic car accident.
I was 15 when I first took pills; did drugs.
I was 15 when I overdosed and was diagnosed with depression.
15, in a psych ward, wondering why I was the way I was.
When I was 15, I was drugged and violated by two guys at a party.
They told me it was my fault because I drank.
I didn’t tell anyone how much it affected me.
I lost my virginity to a boy who said he loved me, when I was 15.
A boy who cheated on and dumped me the next week.
When I was 15, I was first called a slut.
At 15, I was put on antidepressants.
I still tried to kill myself again.
It didn’t work.
When I turned 16 I decided to get better.
A few months later I was raped.
When I was 16, my best friend sided with my rapist.
Told everyone I was lying.
The bruises on my hips were only hickies and my wrist was just fractured because I fell.
16, getting a rape kit.
16, on a hospital bed wondering why I was the way I was.
Wondering how I could have ‘wanted it’.
“Willing little slut”
“Lying little slut”
I was 16 when I couldn’t find it in myself to testify.
16 when my rapist walked, despite all of the evidence.
I was 17 when I first truly felt regret.
I was 17 when I decided to move forward.
When I was 17 I met a boy.
17 when he held me through the nights;
Told me I would be alright.
And I fell in love for the first time.
17, laying with a boy thinking maybe life could have a purpose.
I am almost 18 and I am trying so very hard to be happy again.
Almost 18 and I have finally found some hope.
I was 8 the first time I looked at myself and noticed my imperfections.
When I was 10, I began to criticize my actions and appearance.
I was 11 the first time I cried as I stared into the mirror,
11 when my parents separated;
When I decided I needed to be perfect.
I was 12 the first time I made myself throw up
and made my legs bleed with a pencil;
12 when my sister tried to kill herself, twice. I blamed myself.
13, a knife;
14, a razor. Still no one had a clue.
14 when I found out my little breakdowns were called panic attacks;
That I had an anxiety disorder.
14 when I first drank alcohol.
I was 14 the first time I melted plastic into my own skin.
I was 15 when one of my best friends died in a tragic car accident.
I was 15 when I first took pills; did drugs.
I was 15 when I overdosed and was diagnosed with depression.
15, in a psych ward, wondering why I was the way I was.
When I was 15, I was drugged and violated by two guys at a party.
They told me it was my fault because I drank.
I didn’t tell anyone how much it affected me.
I lost my virginity to a boy who said he loved me, when I was 15.
A boy who cheated on and dumped me the next week.
When I was 15, I was first called a slut.
At 15, I was put on antidepressants.
I still tried to kill myself again.
It didn’t work.
When I turned 16 I decided to get better.
A few months later I was raped.
When I was 16, my best friend sided with my rapist.
Told everyone I was lying.
The bruises on my hips were only hickies and my wrist was just fractured because I fell.
16, getting a rape kit.
16, on a hospital bed wondering why I was the way I was.
Wondering how I could have ‘wanted it’.
“Willing little slut”
“Lying little slut”
I was 16 when I couldn’t find it in myself to testify.
16 when my rapist walked, despite all of the evidence.
I was 17 when I first truly felt regret.
I was 17 when I decided to move forward.
When I was 17 I met a boy.
17 when he held me through the nights;
Told me I would be alright.
And I fell in love for the first time.
17, laying with a boy thinking maybe life could have a purpose.
I am almost 18 and I am trying so very hard to be happy again.
Almost 18 and I have finally found some hope.
Published 1st Nov 2017
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The author encourages honest critique.
Since you have titled this "The First Time", I'd like for you to consider this as another first time:
I was almost 18 the first time I realized that regardless of all that has happened in my life, all the wrongs I have endured at the hands of others or myself, that only I have the right to determine my future, to define who I am today and who I will become tomorrow. The first time I will no longer allow others or myself to continue to mentally punish me for transgressions against me. No longer will I give them the satisfaction of living in my head and being a part of my life. From this point forward only I will decide the direction of my life and extent of my happiness and tranquility. For it is my right, my duty, and no ones else's.
You can not nor should you expect others to do this for you. It is your life, your right and your responsibility, and if you choose wisely, you will have gained valuable knowledge that will serve you well for the rest of your life.
I was almost 18 the first time I realized that regardless of all that has happened in my life, all the wrongs I have endured at the hands of others or myself, that only I have the right to determine my future, to define who I am today and who I will become tomorrow. The first time I will no longer allow others or myself to continue to mentally punish me for transgressions against me. No longer will I give them the satisfaction of living in my head and being a part of my life. From this point forward only I will decide the direction of my life and extent of my happiness and tranquility. For it is my right, my duty, and no ones else's.
You can not nor should you expect others to do this for you. It is your life, your right and your responsibility, and if you choose wisely, you will have gained valuable knowledge that will serve you well for the rest of your life.
2nd Nov 2017 3:55am
Wow thank you so much for putting so much thought into your comment. I honestly cried reading it because it is so very true. Thank you for putting that into words so perfectly.
1st Nov 2017 3:34pm
This is a very strong piece that really reminds us how rough life can be and how quickly the the downward spiral can turn. This seems to be a very personal piece and I am sure is difficult to share, yet sometimes it is needed. In the Marines we are trained to endure. To keep pushing forward. Sadly some of us have to endure horrific things at such a young age. Poetry can help us endure and shed off some of the weight.
2nd Nov 2017 3:57am
Thank you, writing is the only method of coping I have found to be effective. Glad to see that it can reach out further than just my bedroom.
2nd Nov 2017 5:30pm
I have always believed poetry is meant to be shared. That is one of the great things about internet. There are really two types of people who write poetry. Those who express their emotions into words and those who look to write more formally within the art form we call poetry. There are of course those who fall somewhere in between. None of which are bad.
I've read a few of your pieces and you do have talent amongst visually telling a story. I would suggest to try to write a few poems from a different perspective. You can still use your pain, experiences and emotions but place them into a voice that is not entirely your own. Simply one poets advice (who has nothing better to do) to another, take it as you will.
I've read a few of your pieces and you do have talent amongst visually telling a story. I would suggest to try to write a few poems from a different perspective. You can still use your pain, experiences and emotions but place them into a voice that is not entirely your own. Simply one poets advice (who has nothing better to do) to another, take it as you will.
6th Nov 2017 00:43am
