Clouds of thought
Gripping tight the skin of my throat
Thick clouds of whisping anxiety and panic;
Upon which I choke!
Smoke of insanity
Of eyes shifting in a sandstorm around the room, always. Forever.
I stumble. I choke.
The taste of blood from obsessive consistency becomes momentarily, forever.
The hatred I feel for my experience is forever, momentarily.
Clouds of panic grip my mind.
Clouds of anxiety gag my throat.
Clouds of obsession rob my time.
Clouds of sorrow kill me slowly.
Upon clouds, I choke.
Anxiety is a monster
Inside my mind
Its claws scrape my skin.
It tongue traces my
Clock and rewinds
Its red eyes glow
When I grin
Makes me wonder
Who I am?
When it’s angry
I aspire to change
My body vibrates
Like a crashing wave.
Nip and pick
My head spins
My hands are in my hair
Pulling from the stems.
Anxiety you are a beast
You live inside me
Burrowing deep enough that
You are a part of me
You are the roots and I am the tree.
Today is the day
National mental health day
One of the many days I regret
I should speak out
I want to
But my mental illness has me chained
So instead I pull
Pull my way closer
But the chains keep me back
Closer to the truth
Closer to the hesitation
For me, pulling is my release
I read online that the rough ones-
With black bulbs were bad ones
The “wicked witch” ones
So I started
Pulling out my fears,
From my head- one by one
Until I laid there helpless
In a cloud of my mistakes
Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away
Instead, I became more aware
More aware of my failures
For the unknown future that lies in store
One by one
October 23, 2016
I kept the receipts
A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends
She chose me to tell her story to
She was raped
By a guy we all knew and trusted
A “good guy”
I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text
I thanked her for her bravery
For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming
I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two
I don’t know. I may never know.
But what she may not know is that night
She became my one
Someone I knew almost nothing about
I told her my story and asked how she told her first
I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy
Alas you can’t gift strength like that
Oh God, I wish you could
I go back and read those messages all the time trying
I read my TimeHop every day
Sometimes for the memories
But more often than not they bring back the nightmares
I do it for the relief
The streak number tick ticking higher
Counting the days that have gone by
Or the hairs I’ve pulled
Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day
Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness?
I will also not be participating.
My mental illness is keeping me from doing so
I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags
My fingers raking through the carpet
Finding that momentary release
The glorious relief lasting a moment
I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more
My family doesn’t know
Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold
I pull discretely
Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches
I never get my haircut
At least, by a professional
The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth
Not my past coming to haunt me.
She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs
How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt
Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed
Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt
Back in my closeted mind
Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open
Would blood run out or the words I meant to say?
When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair
Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections
It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring
I almost give in
What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it
Does the girl sitting in front of me know
One day she may have to get surgery
To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair?
I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture.
Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles
Understand what’s underneath his skin?
I wonder what his blood would say
Would it tell my story?
Would it tell ours?
You tap the lights three times
Because the world around you is dull
And the number three is safe
But you look like an idiot tapping the lights three times
And washing your hand five times
And reciting numbers people can not hear clearly under your breath
And they look at you
Like the rare deformity
In the city zoo
Because things that are different
Don't fascinate people like they should
But they scare
And deflect others
And I can't help but feel alone in a world
Where the tide pushes against me
Trying it’s best to get me out of their vicinity
I don't mean to think over things that are dangerous and scary
And I don't mean to fall into a deep hole of endless sinking
But the words around me are groggy
On a hot humid day
It’s so thick its feels like swimming in quicksand
But I don't know how to swim in quicksand
And the number one rule when caught in quicksand
Is to not panic
Because then you will drown
But no one tells me this when I need to hear it most
And I am the queen of panic
So I struggle
Only to fall to an endless doom of deep dark nothing
Where blood is thick like maple syrup
And people are as concealed as concrete
My insides turn into this consistency
Of dog shit and bleach
And it burns my throat
And makes me cry
As I choke on my thoughts
Because by the time I reached the pit of the quicksand
I begin to absorb it
And I then become
The things people call me
When they are most upset with me
There's something that doesn't feel right
When I moved out and told you this was best for me
Or when I didn't say goodbye to my little brother because he was outside playing
are both things I did for logical reasons
But if it was so logical
Why am I laying here alone questioning my reasoning for what I did?
Because now things just don't feel right.
Snoozing the alarm clocks hit the highest record today, congratulations.
We got out of bed after the sixth one went off, then continued to lay in bed until the seventh one blared through.
We opened the blinds at two in the afternoon.
We went downstairs and didn't eat until 4pm, congratulations it's practically dinner time.
Our anxious hands spilt the coffee we carried into the living room because we only got five hours of sleep.
We spent the whole evening completing six chores because we had no energy to get up from the floor.
Our night consisted of us hiding away in our bedroom until insomnia washed over us and rocked us harshly to sleep yet another night.
Get a job says every family member or friend I've ever had.
Get a job says depression, mocking me and taunting me while holding the words my family said to me over my head.
Get a job says mom at 7pm when she walks in the door from work, not even asking me how my day was.
Stop being lazy and sitting around all day, it's time to grow up.
Mom, I'm trying to explain to you what it's like to wake up at 10 and lay there in bed until 12:30.
I'm trying to make you comprehend what it's like to eat your first meal of the day at 4 in the afternoon when it should've been at morning.
Half the time I eat just to make you not see how broken I am, to pretend to be someone I really never was or am.
Mom, I eat my feelings because I'm too afraid to say them and all that food is just me trying to fill in the holes anxiety left when she tore through me.
Mom, I'm not lazy!
I'm exhausted and embarrassed and I've carried this shame and guilt and blame for as long as I can remember.
My brain is wound up in chains and soon nothing will remain
Mom do you understand?
I'm a stranger living in the skin of my own body, just a lifeless ghost smiling and making appearances to please everybody.
Mom, I'm tired.
His emotions were like the ocean, so vast and deep, and full of words unspoken.
He confessed to me all his sins and converted to an emotional, selfish machine: so violent, yet completely fulfilled of utter purpose.
I listened to him and his story, then instantly hated myself because I couldn't cure the brokenness or unleash the glory his soul once possessed.
His voice was so full of anger and sadness, distinct with the fear that he would not be able to survive this raging storm on his own.
I told him that I loved him and took him away from the place he once called a home.
He was always impatiently searching for a place he had never known, hoping that someday he wouldn't have to constantly live in the unknown.
His lips soon spoke the four words I never quite wished his voice would ever intone, while also pleading and begging me to not leave him on his own.
He sat down and told me his problems and I listened to the voice of someone I thought I knew.
After the pleading and gasping of breath, he told me he had no ounce of energy left.
Soon fate circumvented much to his relief and a sharp blade gently kissed the skin under his sleeve, but death wasn't ready to take him under his wing.
He was sent back to a place where the pain would subside to a sting.
He was practically forced to jump back on his feet and stop bargaining for less time with his grief.
I'm sorry and I promise that I will try to help you find some peace, but if you go down, I go with you.
How's that for release?
This constant checking, constant inspecting of every inch of my workspace, every inch of my home.
These demons in my head can't seem to leave me alone and I convinced myself that everything will never be okay.
I guess when you're living in hell, it's the price you have to pay.
It's just never ending and I'm so sick of overthinking.
I'm almost positive by now my brain is shrinking.
I barely eat anymore and I can't seem to ever sleep.
This blurry part of me is something I guess I'll always have to keep.
You said you could handle it and that you could help me, but darling you can't even help yourself let alone set my demons free.
I put my heart in your hands and trusted you with it, but that was like placing scissors in the hand of a curious child and expecting them to remit.
You tried so hard to always soothe me of my own pain.
You tried so hard to make my burdens yours and withdraw them all away.
I'm realizing now that if I were normal, maybe you would have stayed and it took me so long to collect my ghost back into my body, to restart this lifeless heart you handed back to 'just somebody.'
My dear, you never quite stopped all the screaming.
Things have gotten much worse since you ended my dreaming.
I love cleaning,
I need to clean.
From my hands to the walls,
Lysol, Windex, Disinfectants, Bleach.
Don't ask me why...
Don't say "But everything is already so spotless!"
Because friend, reality is one thing,
My mind is the mess.