The air is getting thick
I can't breathe anymore
The dark clouds follow me
When will this nightmare end
This vicious cycle of pain
Please stop the pain
The stress is eating me alive
I'm fragile and weak
No job is worth this fear
I need money not pain
I'm not me anymore
Confused on what to do
I have everything to lose
All I want is to breathe again

It seems as though my emotions are making their great escape.
Believe me when i say i've tried to turn the page.
But there's nothing of value deep inside this rib cage.
Do people really feel this empty at such a young age?
What's to come if you can never fully immerse yourself in it?
Even when things are imminent, you find yourself wishing your feelings were infinite.
For years my new normal has been stuck in rock bottom.
But now that seems to be less of a problem.
Oh dear god what i would give to just be me again.
To feel like i've been taken apart piece by piece is the last thing i wanted when i set my mind to mend.
So where is the silver lining?
I guess i could just blame it all on bad timing.
I just wish trying to be me again wasn't so **** tiring.

She was so lucky.
Friends.
Several of them.
All of them kind and real and amazing.
School.
So kind and real and amazing.
Nobody scans her as she walks the halls.
Nobody judges her every choice.

Nobody notices when she chooses to eat information instead of food.
Nobody realizes she notices the little glances just barely within her sight
     Or the muffled snickers
     Or the sly comments.

Nobody knows how absolutely aware she is.
Nobody hears her trembling breaths in the bathroom
silenced by the palm of her hand.
Nobody could ever know how hard it is to ignore all of it;
                                              how hard it is to not hate yourself;
                                              how hard it is to hide everything
carefully packaged under the confines of her undershirt.

Nobody can tell that inside those bulging rolls is simply a girl with social anxiety and insecurities beyond mental health.
Nobody sees her bury her feelings in her sparse salads and amaranthine assignments.
Nobody sees her.

I need an archaeologist
who is willing to sift
through the rubble
of my life
and piece together
the narrative
of my existence
and brush off
the old and dusty
artifacts that
I've forgotten to
look at in years
and tell me
how to brush off the
cobwebs and spiders
without getting
bit.

I am always fighting
Never truly winning
But breathing each day
and waiting for the next.
Fighting myself
And my thoughts.
Lies that run so deep
They become the truth to me.
Each day
A never ending battle
To feel
And to breath
But I put a smile on
Because depression
Isn't me.

Part of me wants to run to you
Beg for you
Put up with the hitting and bleeding
But I know
As I walk away
That I am better off without you