Lacey Clark Jun 2016

What is anxiety, but a mistranslation of the soul's beauty?
This beauty never changes.
However, our emotions add a hue to our thoughts, and perhaps anxiety just discolors them... sucks the life out of thinking.
Yet, we choose not to sit in the seat of our soul.
All of our emotions when not put into play are simply existing. They are a choice in our path of thought.
When we chose not to access them, we chose to think aside our emotions.
Our thoughts become less oriented on the self, our needs, wants, and any fine tuning into "happiness" and instant gratification.
I would go as far to state that happiness, too, is simply an emotion we would like to align ourselves into..
There is a stillness behind our colorful wall of emotions.
Here we feel rest, unity, peace, and clarity.

I was feeling anxious today, and wanted to get to the root of it. My mind took a philosophical route.
Kayla S Feb 2016

Having depression is hard.
It's days when getting out of bed seems
impossible, but you do it anyways
so you don't spend the day alone, left
to your toxic thoughts.

It's constantly battling yourself in
your head. Add that with anxiety and
every word that you speak, or is spoken
to you gets processed over and over again
until none of it ever makes any sense.

It's ruining your relationships because if
you don't hear 'I love you' a few times
you don't believe they love you at all,
it's questioning your worth and wondering
when they will get sick of it, and leave,
because they aren't ready to ride
the emotional roller coaster of your life
and they are already motion sick.

It's not just sadness like everyone thinks,
it's doubt, indifference, confusion, uncertainty,
and yes sadness, but mostly it's not being able
to explain to anyone how you feel because you
have no fucking clue what's going in your
own mind.

It's telling people you are okay because it's the easiest
thing to say and most people don't ask twice. It's
praying that when its hiding that it never comes back
and when it comes back that it goes away soon.
It's pretending that you don't exist, that you never existed

It's hoping someone will love you even if you
can't love yourself, you may never love yourself,
but always being taught that no one will ever love you
if you don't, so you push people away until they never look back
and question yourself why you are always alone.

I look up at the evening sky and it nearly brings me to tears.
I feel so small in the grand scheme. I could live to be maybe what?
100 years?
This insignificance is my reality.

I feel so small in a world so big,
in a universe unfathomable
and I don't know what to do about it.

I can't make the noise in my head quiet.

I need something to give my mind a focus
and thus I write this nonsense.
These so called poems
with a hint of rant
and a bit of banter.
Smothered in self-sorrow.
Oh, woe is me.
So when the waves start crashing
I start typing.
The content can't be helped.
I just sit back and relax
let the keys click and clack
And focus.

It was a day like today when
I found myself nearly paralyzed
unable to move myself from my bed.
This existential depression is crippling.
Living like the dead.

I need a purpose, I need a reason
to continue down this path called life
but with out turning to hedonism.

But I have no real passions
I have no real hobbies.
I'm just sitting around waiting
stuck in purgatory.

If you've read my rants before you'll know of my nihilism.
And I've struggled to find the will to live for quite some time now.
I'm seeing several psychs and on a multitude of meds
that I will gladly abuse to try to transcend
to something greater.
Something more.
But this "instant-gratification" lifestyle can't go on forever.

Because money runs thin
and I hate running.
My lungs are filling up
and its with nothing healthy.
This low self-esteem feels like drowning.
Living like a problem not worth solving.
Each day passes, each the same.
Moving forward toward monotony.

If I am to go before you think I should,
bury me deep encased in wood.
If I am to pass on in my early years,
please don't cry for me, shed no tears.
Because it doesn't matter when,
it doesn't matter how,
it was bound to happen eventually.
My time just happens to be now.

I'm not afraid of dying.
Rather I find it annoying.
Because I need know what civilizations will be like in thousands of years
but I have no way of knowing.

The end of existence is much like before.
The quiet, peaceful-nothingness.
We are all heading towards.

This is the reality to which I'm confined.
A consciousness limited in body and mind.

a quickie

There is a dip at the center of my mattress
from night after night of sleeping alone,
gravity, like the weight of loneliness,
has made it sink down.
If the day ever comes that I share my bed with another,
the dip in the middle will bring us closer together while we sleep.
As if I had to endure all the lonely nights just to sleep so close to someone.
I’ll keep waiting for that day,
and the longer I wait, the lower the dip gets.
Maybe one day I’ll find someone to share the dip in my mattress with.

Or maybe I should just flip my mattress.

Four Valium down washed away with beer.
I can no longer live a life lead by fear.
Constant stress of just being awake,
when all I ever wanted was to just get away.
To start my life over, but it’s not that easy
when the mask you once donned has sunk its teeth in.

The walls I built around me to keep myself safe
have become this new fortress from which I can’t escape.
The sigil of the heart I once wore on my sleeve
has long since faded into a jaded, new me.
How foolish I was to think I could go back
to the person I was before I donned the mask.

I’m afraid I’ll do something I regret.
Like go AWOL, or just end up dead.
I try to hold on but the memories are fleeting
now all that I hear is my subconscious screaming
piercing my thoughts, no hope for peace
now all that I seek is some form of release.
A light pole at 80, just another crash.
Or the squeeze of a trigger for my brain to catch.

I’m tired of not seeing a reason
to see this life through yet another season.
Everyone dies, that fact remains true.
you may be happy living
but I’m not you.

Clear your thoughts
like a break in the clouds.
Memories float by
until you’re left with nothing
but an open sky,
a star to wish upon,
a constellation to recall,
and the blackness to remind us
we are all so very small.

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