Just because you can’t hear me doesn’t mean I’m not there.
Every moment is a waking nightmare
Of anxiety and all I see’s a dangerous path that leads to apathy.
Just because I’m still kicking and breathing and fighting
Doesn’t mean that I’m not struggling
Doesn’t mean that I’m not juggling every single task
With kicking, breathing, and fighting just to stay afloat.
Just to keep from drowning.
Just to keep from shaking and crying and breaking and dying and
Screaming out to the world

I am not okay!

And you know what that’s okay.
Because I don’t have to be okay every single day just to be able to say
Everything is fine.
Everything is not fine.
And when the world comes crashing down around you
And you feel like you’re about to burst because of all the emotions that you aren’t feeling
And when the world starts reeling and spinning under your feet
And you feel like you’re sinning because you don’t feel complete,
Take a moment

To breathe.

Because no matter what you believe
One day you will feel again
You’ll feel the sun on your face, a loved one’s embrace and then
You’ll finally feel
alive.

I woke up today with the lingering thought that I wanted to **** myself.
It felt old, causing me to wonder if I had felt it in my sleep as well. It took me a short while to realize that I had no interest in doing this myself. I simply did not wish to exist.

The idea was not new to me, nor was it worrisome. I had felt like this for a long while. Rare though, were the days that it descended so immediately, giving me little time to breathe before blanketing me.
It felt unusually heavy. And yet it felt unusually light. Perhaps not light. Maybe... Thin. Wispy. Immaterial. I could not figure out the source of this deep dissatisfaction with life. It didnt seem to be academic issues. It didnt seem to be social issues. It didnt seem to be home issues. Perhaps it was all of them at once. Perhaps I was tired of working my *** off, tired of feeling so forcefully, tired of answering ridiculous questions. Perhaps I was just plain tired. I was a busy person, after all.
But I had slept well. And I had had 9 days off of school. There wasn't much to warrant feeling this way. But I felt it a lot. I was god awful tired of feeling it. And the feeling seemed to magnify itself. Wanting to die only made me want to die even more.
It was frustrating. Knowing that I couldn't help but feel this way. Knowing that most of my friends didn't handle their problems this way. It was hard. I wanted to be more positive. I wanted to be like everyone else.

But then I wouldn't feel this way. And if I didn't feel this way, I wouldn't talk about it, and if you feel this way, its important to talk about it. Because mental health is stigmatized today.
It's okay to feel like you can't get out, it's okay for your legs to struggle to walk, if you can't stop repeating repeating repeating words, can't control the compulsion to skip the step before the landing. I tell myself this. Its important to tell yourself that your "problems" are normal too. And of course maybe you don't skip the step before the landing, because you aren't, you aren't, you aren't me, but your hands might shake and you might jump at the sound of cabinets slamming, and you might not agree with the voices you hear.
And you might wish that you were dead.
But instead of keeping it a secret, talk about it.
Let someone know.
Let people know that mental health is not a curious oddity, or something that ought to be shunned.
It is something that should be treated just like any physical ailment.
Don't keep it a secret.

Talk about it.

Talk about it.

Talk about it.

No amount of strong coffee or sleep
can cure my tiredness; it runs too deep.
It’s the kind of exhaustion from lack of exuberance and hope
and a perpetual state of desolation in which I’m unable to cope.
So worn down by life and the trials it brings every single day,
this is not the kind of fatigue that can easily be taken away.

I love maths
it proves that we were
just another mish mash
of geometric nonsense
refusing to accept
that you were a square
and that I was a circle
and that organic movements
do not match
with corners
and straight lines

I am cascading through myself,
and no one can save me.

We’re outside some gig.
A light rain.
An almost mist.
My knees are cold, and there are too many people,
and I have never felt more alone.

You’re waiting for me to reciprocate.

Everything is white noise.
I’m caught in the eddy of your words,
watching waves flicker into being,
before dashing on the cobbles beside my feet.

All of my existence has been an ephemeral becoming.

I’m in a car.
My flatmate screams at his window for a single second before apologising.

I’m climbing out the side of my apartment,
because I’ve locked myself out of my room,
and I no longer fear death.

The other day I thought I heard you singing.

I watch cars pass.
They bleed into the city.
A breath without beginning or end.

Reality loses definition,
or perhaps I do.









My knees are cold.

This morning, it was hard for me to get out of bed.
I was so tired,
I was so willing to lay down,
Rest,
And give up
But I didn’t.
I got out of bed,
Got dressed,
And got ready for school
Most people only think about the war that comes with depression and anxiety
They don’t tell you about the many little battles
Battles I’m learning to overcome
They’re not easy battles,
But for the first time in a long time,
This morning,
*I won.