and i don’t want to be here / ok / and i honestly can’t wait until high school is over / these days / because don’t fuck up. don’t fall, okay? don’t let them see you crying on the floor / like the weak thing you are / just hold yourself together / try to look for the sunny weather / even though you forgot to care what you looked like today / and you slept in / and you’re a fucking mess / and this whole thing is just one fucking mess / isn’t it? / and i am so tired / of trying to make everything look seamless / and beautiful / and perfect / tired of pretending this is true / because it isn’t. / and i feel like crying / and i look like shit / and i’m sweating nervously / and i feel like the world’s biggest idiot / and my cheeks are on fire / and i. am. so. exhausted.
I wrote this on the day I wrote my math final–which actually went super well, but I also had a massive panic attack before that happened, which lead to me not being able to breathe for a good half an hour and kind of feeling paralyzed. In retrospect, now that my school is closed and I can’t even see my friends, I miss it like hell, but at the same time… it was hard and stressful and scary. And I guess it helped to put it on paper, at least a little bit.
and if you don’t know what i’m talking about, maybe you’ve never had anxiety. maybe you’ve never felt your heart pound, and your thoughts race, and you’re too tired to feel like this but you can’t help but worry anyway.
maybe you’ve never been awake this late at night writing poetry, because you don’t know what else to do with your life. as your stomach crumples inward. and the voices scream, and as it starts to fall apart.
and it’s your fault. it’s your fault. it’s your fault. and it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault…
and something’s going to go wrong eventually. you’re going to do something wrong eventually. you are going to explode eventually.
did i ever mention that sometimes living with a brain like this feels like a disability?
Another anxiety poem. I’ve been really struggling with perfectionism lately.
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i am a bomb. and it’s only so long before i go off. because i can’t breathe. and i know that there is no certainty, but goddamit. i just want one tiny shred of predictability. i want to know i’m okay. i want to not think about myself this way. but how do i do that when the clouds roar? and the pent-up lightning crackles above me? and safety is always just out of sight little girl don’t try to run from me? and i’m soaking wet. and i can’t breathe, as i look up at the sky, and wonder how long i have before the darkness finds me. i am a bomb. and it’s really just a matter of when i’ll go off. and i am drowning. and i am standing in the mirror, brushing out my hair. except i keep going. and i keep going. and it hurts but i keep going. because i’ll never be pretty. because little girl, why are you so ugly? i am crying on the kitchen floor screaming get away from me. and maybe you want me to end this hopefully, but i don’t know what to say. because i don’t feel like happy endings today.
i wrote this free-write poem on a really bad day, attempting to describe the feeling of a panic attack–or maybe not even a panic attack, just panic in general over something that has just been really bugging me of late. it’s short–but i hope it means something to you anyway.
i’m drinking coffee again and i know that doesn’t sound like a big deal but it feels like it to me because other people can somehow function this way but it’s not like that for me. i haven’t been sleeping great of late and am i about to lose my self-control is this what kills me? because it feels that way right now. as the sky smudges itself black and white and i’m still having trouble thinking clearly. as my thoughts distort and bend like beams of light. i’m drinking coffee again even though i know it’s not good for me and i want to laugh it off because normal people laugh it off and that doesn’t feel like a good sign because that’s exactly the way it used to be. i’m drinking coffee again just because the world told me it was all right but it doesn’t feel all right it feels like throwing up but on the inside. but hey at least i feel alive. but hey at least i can keep functioning on nothing even though the smoke alarm is wailing but i’m numb and maybe i’m dissociating so i don’t actually hear anything. and i don’t really feel like editing because the broken limbs collide into themselves and i don’t know how to tell you how i feel because how i feel is shaped by what i want myself to feel and because how i feel is crammed into not having enough time to deal with it because there is never enough time to deal with it. i’m drinking coffee again, and my poems are eroding and i don’t know how to tell you hopeful things when i don’t feel them and it’s not that i don’t love you it’s that i can’t tell you that until i love myself but i can’t love myself so what am i supposed to tell you when you fall apart in my arms? i’m bandaging up my fingers so i can’t hurt even a small part of myself anymore. and i’m scared i’m just lying to myself because isn’t it all just in my head? because isn’t this all just something happening so. far. away? because my head is a runaway train. and i know i’m in control but i don’t even know how to fix this. don’t know which glue will finally work for all my broken pieces. and maybe i’m just tired right now of fighting this. tired of every day being another train wreck. tired of always feeling like this. so i close my eyes. and i brace for the impact. and i put on a helmet. and soon it’ll be over. and as long as other like the fractal spirals of my tears, it probably doesn’t matter–
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so i try to write it out. but the screen light is burning into my eyes and i’m so fucking fed up of this mind. and i don’t want to be tired but it’s all i’ve ever known for a long time, and there’s not enough time. there’s never enough time crumpling your skull like all the things you’ve ever hated about yourself slowly coming to life. so i drink water and have caffeine because the internet says then i’ll be able to think. desperate attempts at any kind of relationship because someone would be better than no one and when your standards are nothing it’s hard to see clearly. and i’m tired of answering questions, and honestly all i want is to sit in a quiet room and not feel like the whole world is shaking. like no monster can pull me out of myself and make everything go numb and dark and a little bit hopeless. and is that a realistic expectation? or am i being too soft again? because i feel like little red riding hood, walking straight into my own mind thinking that it’ll actually be on my side, only it isn’t, because it’s never on my side, and i’m curled up in a ball on the floor of my bedroom. my problem isn’t that i don’t tell other people my pain, it’s that i tell other people my feelings too much. it’s that sometimes i look into the mirror and i’m already acting out conversations i haven’t even had yet. and i just can’t believe i spent my whole life thinking i could actually trust you. and they say it’s so simple, and they say it’s not simple. and the traffic lights keep flashing at me black and white and grey and yellow and stop and go and stop and go and i don’t know what to believe which is probably why my skull is splitting itself open. which is probably why this isn’t the first time this has happened. and i know it seems so much like a story from the outside. so much like dry-paper skin and something you can manipulate. but. for me, it’s… it’s just reality.
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