She is a monster in the back of my head.
Every bite of food fills me with dread.
“Don’t eat that, you’re already so fat.”
“0 calories a day will make your stomach flat.”
She comes to me in my dreams,
So sickly, so thin.
Her name is Ana.
She is the demon within.
She will pretend to be your friend
Just to get inside your head;
And she will hold on tight.
She will cover you in darkness.
She will mock you out of spite.
She does not forgive.
She does not forget.
Letting her in will be your biggest regret.

I honestly don’t think getting your ass beat as a kid and school shootings have any correlation. There are like a million and one external factors that affect children and young adults in their everyday life. Kids these days are exposed to things like riots, violence in their household, seeing mass shootings on television, and most importantly to me, is that a lot of kids struggle internally with depression, anxiety and addiction. Because of posts like this. A lot of adults have the “it worked for me” mentality.

But we didn’t grow up hoping that our friends don’t get shot in front of us. We didn’t grow up susceptible to the fear of ourselves. Our classmates. Our friends.

It has to change. Is what I’m trying to say. It’s a different time. These kids are different than us.

I’M FEELING IT AGAIN.

ALL THE FUCKING NAUSEA

Do ya ever feel that way?

You probably have a few times in your life.

But have ya ever felt it CONSTANTLY?

Every.
Single.
Fucking.
Day.
I feel it.

Sometimes it’s for a few hours.

But a lot of the time, it’s all damn day.

ALL DAMN DAY.

I’m so uncomfortable all the time.

Because of NAUSEA.

FUCKING NAUSEA.

Forgive me for being a little bitter.

I’m just a little<a lot>nauseated.

engulf me
drown me
submerge me
find a way into every crevice
of my face, my hands, my body

spend time with me
get to know why i'm always awake at 3 am
and why the dark terrifies me

know all my secrets
to the point that i'll feel bare
even when i'm fully clothed

love me
hate me
take control of me
leave me broken and bruised
more than i'll ever be

Have you ever wanted to scream,
To yell,
To shout,
Until you couldn’t say another word?

Have you ever wanted to speak your mind,
Your opinions,
Your heart,
Although no one would listen?

When you wanted speak,
To utter,
To whisper,
Just to hear reassurance.

Instead you are quite.
Not a whisper,
Not a word,
But they wouldn’t know.

But it’s just your mind,
A thousand words,
A thousand pictures,
A thousand stories.

Or how your home,
Lost it meaning.
Or how your touch,
Lost it’s feeling.

But no one ever tells you,
In the darkest of night,
That when the world is silent,
Only the loudest,
Are the screams of the forgotten.

your scars -  a road map;
sad, endless tales spreading far
of battles once fought.

I took too many busporine,
But I'm still anxious.
I'm still fucking freaked.  
I'm still nervously shaking.
I'm still sputtering about.
I'm still worried why you haven't opened my message.

I know this whole thing is new.
I know you're probably sleeping.
I know you have a life outside of me.
I know you sometimes need a break from me.
But my anxiety doesn't.

My anxiety doesn't get that you're busy.
Anxiety doesn't get that you're sleeping.
Anxiety doesn't get that maybe you just want some space.
Anxiety doesn't get that I didn't do anything wrong,
And that your feelings for me haven't changed.

Anxiety is scared.
Anxiety is panicking.
Anxiety is popping one too many pills.
Anxiety is crying and trying not to cut again.
Anxiety is worrying that you've found someone else.
Anxiety is worried that you're out with them now and just ignoring me until you're horny later tonight.

Jesus Christ, Anxiety.
Give me a break,
Quit giving me a battle.
Jesus fucking Christ, Anxiety.
Take a deep breath,
Try to stay rational.
Jesus FUCKING Christ, Anxiety.
I'm trying to salvage a relationship here,
And ruin the one I have with you.