On the past and the future.

I am a pre-existing condition.

I am 3 am night sweats and night terrors 

Debating whether or not to send an email, 

Crying out for help. 

I am five years old, six years old, seven

The fight is over we are moving away

No more playing house because mommy says it's not okay

That's not how kids play house but I didn't know any better.

I am eleven years old, grazing a safety pin across my skin wondering what it would feel like to push it in deeper. 

I am twelve, thirteen, fourteen

Two fingers and my thumb holding a razor blade to my leg, sliding it back and forth, and back and forth 

Wondering how deep I'll have to go this time to feel relief. 

I am... 

I am sending the email this time. I am reaching out for help. 

I am on Medicaid and the government paid psychiatrist tells me and my parents this is a normal part of growing up. 

I am fifteen. I am sixteen. I am losing control. I am losing weight... fast. 

I am black circles under my eyes because I haven't eaten in days. 

I am graduating high school. 

I never thought I'd live this long... 

I am falling in love. 

I am going to the emergency room because I need stitches and I don't want anyone to know. 

I am being told I hit a vein. I am alone. 

I am in therapy. 

I am telling secrets I have never told anyone before. 

I am talking about being five years old with a penis my mouth not knowing right from wrong. 

I am eighteen years old. Drunk beyond consent.. but I only had one maybe two glasses of wine. I am an adult, I should have known better. 

I am keeping secrets. 

I am crying in my parents room. 

I am telling my mother I was raped. 

Almost two years too late. 

I am in treatment. 

I am in treatment. 

I am learning I am not alone. 

I am learning it wasn't my fault. 

I am getting better. 

I am falling again. 

I am twenty-two. I thought I was better so I stopped taking my medicines. 

I am feeling alone again. 

I am throwing up after I eat because it's the one thing I have control over. 

I am cutting myself again but this time I don't care who knows. 

I am over fifty scars on my body mostly in places that no one will see. 

I am bandages over my wrists and stitches on my ankle where the doctors tell my parents I almost hit an artery. 

I am too much for outpatient treatment. 

I am in treatment. Again. 

I am a disappointment. 

I need to grab the bull by the horns. 

I am doing well on my meds and debating going back to school. 

I am living alone. 

I am scribbling a poem down on paper. 

This might be my last one. 

I am waking up with blood all over my sheets and my dog licking the bandage on my leg. 

I am needing to see a doctor but terrified that anyone would find out. 

I am changing the bandage, 

Five times in one day, it won't stop bleeding. 

I am going to the hospital almost twenty-four hours later because I can't control the bleeding. 

I am in treatment. Again. 

I am hundreds of miles away from home, 

Learning once again that none of it was my fault. 

I am learning to breathe again. 

I am learning to cope. 

I am doing better.

I am doing so much better. 

I am in recovery. 

I am in recovery but things are starting to get dark again. 

I am in therapy saying that I don't think I need this anymore. 

I am twenty-five. 

I am waking up to night sweats and night terrors and would rather not sleep at all. 

I am debating sending an email or a text. 

I am anxious. I am depressed. 

I am struggling. 

I am aware that I may lose my health insurance and then I will have no choice on whether or not I need therapy anymore. 

I am in serious debt. 

I am wanting to go back to school. 

I am holding down a job that I love. 

I am thriving in many ways. 

I am learning that I was born with a brain that works different from others. 

I was born with a genetic predisposition. 

I am more than my anxiety, depression, PTSD, and eating disorder. 

But to you, 

I am a pre-existing condition.