Half Alive.

She lives in a space somewhere between life and death.
Day by day she continues with each and every breath.
Never fully living, yet still never fully alive.
Mundane priorities each hour she survives.

She’s numb and disconnected from reality and life.
Each morning, as her eyes open, light cuts like a knife.
Sleep is her only reprieve from pain and discontent.
Emotions bottled up that she’ll never fully vent.

Her heart died a long time ago and with obligation she goes on.
People secretly admire her for being resolute and strong.
But she’s broken inside where people just can’t see.
Her heart feels caged, like it’s never felt free.

How can she live fully when she feels dead inside?
Would she be accepted if people saw the scars she hides?
History has taught her the answer and it’s painful at best.
People are cruel and she will never pass their tests.

People prey on each other and make matters worse.
Her life has felt like a long, drawn-out curse.
Someone at some point told her she didn’t belong.
Nothing has convinced her that they just might be wrong.

She can’t face her pain because it’s too much to feel.
Small little glimpses cause her to panic and reel.
Frightening thoughts consume her as she desperately tries to flee.
You see that girl with the painful past who seeks escape, she is me.

I’d rather be dead than face all the pain.
At least that’s the lie that plays in my brain.
To fully live is more than I believe I can bear.
Because I must feel all the scars that I wear.

So, for now, I live a life that is not fully life.
I try to avoid pain, conflict and strife.
I retreat each day to a safe place inside my mind.
But even in there, pain still I find.

So, I live in a numbness I can’t quite explain.
Most of the time I feel I’m teetering between mad and insane.
Someday I’ll heal if I can ever face the hurt.
Or die a thousand times in my mind; With death I flirt.

I feel so alone no matter how many may be around.
Any words of encouragement are drowned out by the sounds.
The sounds in my mind with words telling me I’m not enough.
My emotions and thoughts I continually stuff.

I stuff them inside deeper where they fester and boil.
Any hope of healing seems to decay and to spoil.
But tomorrow is a new day, so off to my bed now I’ll go.
To a land where I’m not alive, nor dead, but escape I know.

My reprieve is in sleep as I nightly sail away.
My trials, my pain, in the daytime can stay.
At least for a few hours, I catch a little break.
Each morning, I go on, ignoring the pain from the moment I wake.

So, on I go, day by day till time is done.
No other life have I known except this one.
So, by day I will smile and press on, not fully alive.
Maybe in time, with healing I’ll thrive.

But for now, numbness remains supreme.
Peace is afforded to me at night in my dreams.
One step in front of the other to my nightly reprieve.
If I wasn’t in denial, who knows what I would achieve.

©Stephanie Blomquist 2026