I have an anxiety disorder.
I know, I know.
We all do.

It’s 2019. We’re Gen Z.
We grew up eating Red 40,
and processed sugar’s our religion.

But I have an anxiety disorder.
And ADHD. And a bit of OCD
when it comes to schoolwork.
Or books. Or anything that
does not matter.
But my room? Hahaha,
what’s cleaning?

I have an anxiety disorder.
That phrase goes through
my head several times a day.

I feel the constant buzzing.
My dance teachers used to
tell me to radiate energy
out of my fingertips.
And I do.
My hands tremble constantly,
and I forget to breathe.

I used to be that kid that
always had an imaginary friend.
When I was little,
his name was DeeDee.
But when he went away,
and there were others.
Like characters in a story,
but I could see them. Talk to them.
Now the voices are just in my head.

I have an anxiety disorder.
I like to talk. A lot.
Sometimes I’ll say a sentence
and not get to the point
for an hour.
Ranting’s like a pastime to me.
I’ll just ramble on and on.
Then stop myself.
“So, how’s your life going?”
Two seconds of silence,
Then back to whatever
show, or movie, or teacher
was annoying the hell out of me
whenever this conversation started.

I promise I don’t do this because I
like to hear myself speak.
On the contrary, actually.
I hate it. I hate my voice. I hate my words.
But I can’t face the silence.
Because whatever I say out loud
is a million times better
then the voices in my head.

“Shut up.”
“They don’t care.”
“You forgot to do this.”
“Remember that one time
you said that thing
freshmen year.”

I have an anxiety disorder.
I have ADHD.
I’ll have OCD if I get worse.

And if I could flip a switch
and it would all go away,
I would
in a heartbeat.
Snap my fingers and move to
a deserted island without any
people to judge my every move.
But then I’d be left with the
thing I hate most.
Quiet.

Dribbling down the sides of my head
It drops clear
And drips red

Drop
Scream
Drip
Cry

Rippling waves of rejections
Then self corrections

Don’t try to make sense of the process
It’s nonsensical filled with paradoxical decisions

Just let me bleed H20

Howard Robard Hughes
Famously rich recluse
Dreams led him to the lap of luxury
Followed by nightmarish mysophobic OCD

Rich ******* aviator Howard Hughes
With movie starlets kept himself amused
Dated Katherine Hepburn
Bette Davis took her turn
And still more, which kept the tabloids confused

Born Howard Robard Hughes to a rich family
With English, Welsh and French Huguenot ancestry
Enjoyed a successful multi-faceted business career
But aviation and aerospace were his favorite frontier

I cause myself severe anxiety
It's so hard
To have it my way
I overthink it

I don't know what it is
But I have this guilt
This fear
That follows me around
It goes where I am

It takes up time
It gets in the way

I can't make everything perfect
Can't erase that twenty-eight times
It's unreasonable
It's unrealistic
It won't happen
Even if I rewrite everything
Forty times

It still
Isn't perfect
I'm unreasonable
I'm not perfect
I know it's true
So why can't I stop
Doing it?

I have this thing
This thing that I do
It's no big deal
It's just this thing that I do

I took three steps
That's one less than four
Even though four is not a bad number
It is too close to the ones that are
Three and eight are the best
Followed by twelve and twenty-four
And all the numbers of seven
Well not the numbers with five
Those send shivers down my spine

Even numbers are better than odds
Excepts two
Which combined with three is five
I said odds are worse
But thirteen is pretty great
As long as it doesn't mix
With the ones that I hate
And eight is Ok
But sometimes it makes me think
That eight is too close to nine
And to make nine you must have five
So sometimes I don't think
That eight is so Ok

This is the thing
This thing that I do
I know this behavior is strange
But this is just the thing that I do

She is lonely
but she wants to be alone
She is trapped in a room
with the door unlocked

She doesn’t remember
but her dreams don’t let her forget
She wants to wake up
even if she can still see the stars

She wants to be the best
but she feels like she is the worst
she works hard
even though she cannot move

Sometimes it's blue,
A stormy sea of emotions
Coming, uninvited,
Into a newly built home,
Crashing the windows,
Filling the rooms,
Leaving me in my bed,
To drown on my own.

Sometimes it's grey,
A dim, colorless sky,
With the clouds standing still,
And the wind barely blowing.
And I am standing there,
With my umbrella,
Waiting for the storm to come,
Staring anxiously at the horizon.

Sometimes it's red,
A disastrous fire,
Tearing down everything in its path,
Burning it to the ground.
And I am paralyzed,
Looking at it come towards me,
With nowhere to go,
With nowhere to run.

Sometimes it's green,
Sturdy vines wrapping
Around my arms and legs,
Taking control of me.
Making me do things
That I would never do.
No matter the cost.
No matter the circumstances.

Sometimes it's yellow,
A hazy desert,
Sand that has piled up for ages,
Forming into dunes.
And there I march,
My feet heavy with desperation,
My throat dry and sore,
Consumed by the sun.

Sometimes it's pink,
An overdose of sugar,
Delighting me, Exciting me,
Then leaving me hollow.
I stand there, blinded,
Not knowing I had one cube too many,
Convinced that I'll smile again,
And the sweetness is soon to return.

Disaster is a spectrum,
One is never like the other.
They all have a different weight.
They all have a different impact.
They all have a different temperature.
They all have a different sound.
They all have one thing in common -
The ache in your chest.

Patterns are like chains
I can’t break free
Or at least that’s the way
It seems to me