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depression is the *****  i want to punch in the ******* face
anxiety is her ******* side kick
panic dances around with them like a ******* background dancer
well have i got news
im done dancing
this is a fight i will fight
but not to the death
i will not let this **** me
#depression #anxiety #panic #panicattacks #3amanxiety #midnightthoughts
Lieke Jan 26
I can't stop
Accelerating my the second
Salty tears are flooding my eyes
Air stuffing my windpipe
Each breath is spiralling upwards


I feel it all at once
Years of hungry pain rushing into me
The sorrow is starving for my cries
So it pulls and twists and stabs


My voice is muted
Death is craving me more and more
Longing to meet again
To bleed me dry
And drain me away
21 November, 2018
kk Jan 21
My relationship with mirrors is strained.
When I look I usually see what's probably
myself. I look better, probably, than before
when I slept no more than
3 hours every night
and spluttered through life
choking on words and stumbling over
misconceptions.
Now all of that is merely a buzz
trampled by a maximum dosage of meds
that let me function in life
but make everything a bit numb.
I much prefer numbness to personal nihilism.
Other times when I look in the mirror I
don't see much of anything.
When I'm in public and
the innocent looming presence of others
threatens my mind's fragile ego,
I see them abstracted in my periphery,
their glinting knives of eyes
sparing me a passing glance
(She's just smiling politely,
but my skewed eyes glimpse
faux teeth and behind them gargled, ****** judgements. I don't judge the digust.)
and I skim over a transparency
of myself in the mirror.
Too bad I can't actually disappear.
(Or maybe I can.
But I try to stray a little farther from those thoughts.)
Sometimes I feel heartbreakingly
**** in that mirror. Lonely. Unwanted.
Even with all those doting eyes on me.
I feel relied upon for something. To be
the one who makes them laugh. The one
who fills the silence. The one
who works hard even with setbacks.
(Do they even expect that of me? Or do I?)
When
in reality
I'm none of those things.
Not truly. Not really.
Theres always that tug of opposition in me,
that feeling of ingenuity, a touch of facade.
But I don't want them to see an **** side.
The side that mistrusts violently,
that lies stagnant with thoughts screaming.
Clamming up in the face of oppressing quiet.
The side
that rears its head when
they look a little too close.
Maybe it's my truest self, that broken side.
I wouldn't know. There
are too many walls. I can't even break them
myself.
Or maybe I've broken them all,
but I'm blindfolded,
feeling around an abyss with my eyes
wide open,
vision obscured by skin-tight fabric.
I could just,
untie that knot behind my head,
spiral further and further down--
just to feel something else--
But it's safer in this uneasy emotion.
I dont know if I'll ever find myself in
the mirror again.
Ren Jan 9
My turn to go up next.
The teacher glances toward me and nods.
I grab my instrument and walk to the front of the room.
A chair and stand awaits me.
I set the sheet music on the stand and take a seat.
"Whenever you're ready," he says.

I lift the french horn to my face and pause.
I remember the people before me who went,
eyes full of fear.
Hoping with every ounce of their soul
that they won't mess up.
My chest constricts tightly.
I struggle to take a breath, then begin.

The first note is perfectly on pitch.
So far, so good.
The phrase flows smoothly.
The piece goes well,
until I take a risky glance around the classroom.

A knot forms in my stomach.
Everyone is looking at ME.
Expecting ME to do well.
My fingers fumble as I miss a note.
I panic and rush the rhythms,
not caring if I miss the pitch.
I just want this TORTURE to be over.

Their gazes are icy.
The piece ends and I swiftly let my instrument down.
I hang my head low.
The ones before me look grim.
Surely I had disappointed them

The director says nothing.
The silence is KILLING me.
I feel my face flushing red.
The room is getting warmer.
"Next?" He asks, prying that I should take my spot.
I get up and take my things,
then do exactly that.

The next person plays perfectly.
I applaud with tear-stained hands.
They are praised well as they walk to their seat,
beaming in glory.

Who am I to pretend
that I understand this madness
called success?
Playing your solo for the class is never fun.
Marissa Jan 7
you feel it happening again
the shaky legs
driving you insane
the sweaty hands
ruining your plans
the racing heart
making you want to dart
are they watching me?
what do they see?
I feel their eyes all over me
is this a nervous breakdown?
i really need to come down
get it together
you say in your head
but the voices don’t let you forget
you’re better off dead
stop it, stop it, go away
do not come back another day
it’s just chemicals in my brain
but all I can feel is pain
anxiety is not beautiful
it certainly does not make me strong
I just want to be normal and feel like I belong
panic attacks are not cute
and I cannot “just calm down”
it is a disorder and debilitating
it makes it really hard to breathe
average tasks become mountains
it’s not simply all in my head
it feels like I’m about to drown
but with patience and persistence
i will never back down
kk Jul 2018
imagine a calloused doubt.
cracked, chipped, clicking
like warped wooden floorboards.
soft from overuse
but still overrides willpower
in one palpitating breath.
grimy yet illusive
like your teeth after a day’s work,
collecting gunk that sidles up
to calcium companions,
crunching down on things
that become
so bland in the end.
doubt is offbeat,
monstrous footsteps hidden deep
off beaten paths,
its thudding is clammy and hurried,
aligned to the discordant jazz of
your alarmed body.
it tastes like
coppery heartbeats,
rising bile,
salt and mucus in the back of your throat.
it is a truly uncomfortable thing.
it stacks sweetly like buttercream pancakes
but crumbles you
with such a sour taste on your tongue.
imagine an agony that loves you.
i write about anxiety too much
Pagan Paul Jun 2018
.
… and the look of fear
co-existing with pain
     on a contorted face
that knows
it is in mortal difficulty,
as ragged fingers

     clutch,

          clutch,

at a fire they cannot reach,
ripping agonies react,
     to an enforced cardiac episode,
as blackness closes in
gravity heaves its hardest,
but the fall is fake,
a red herring in the event,
     and the weight of the world

presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,
presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,

as breath is given freedom
in exhalation to the light,
     that slowly rolls back
the pitch hue of the void,
returning back images,
feeling,
a new belief,

          and the fire inside quietens,

                    and the fire inside quietens,

to the intense glow
     of a burnt aching heart.



© Pagan Paul (18/06/18)
.
Lily Flower Jun 2018
Every breath I take reeks of calamity
I start counting the biscuit bunnies I had yesterday.
which sadly reach up to eight.
Not my favourite number at all
I look like an exploding fireball
but despite that everything is dark
and ruddy.
like the insides of a trash bin .
My hands are clammy,
throat, a jammed highway of emotions!
If I used ten thousand oceans
as ink, and a million deserts as parchment,
I would be unable to describe my pain
for it was born a torchering antagonist,
a piece of congealed blood in my lungs
and my breath reeks of calamity.
On anxiety disorders such as ocd and panic attacks, social anxiety and depression. All of which I've suffered from (still struggling).
Erica May 2018
im not submerged into anything
im drowning in my own breath
drowning in stress
anxiety
sadness
yet nothing at all
im numb
but im suffocating in this world
nothing is blocking my air passages, nothing is around my neck
but i feel a tightness in my throat
i shake
yet im silent
i get irritable
annoyed
and i shut down
sometimes i'll cry
others i just sit there staring at nothing
and i just... sit
Luka D Apr 2018
I'm freaking out, man
Man I'M FREAKING out

What lies in the bushes?
What DID I DO
to unsettle LUCIFER?
and Odin?
and vampires?
And BANSHEES?

why, why, WHY
the need to chase me?
I'll just run away

No,
no, you can't catch me
..I can't breathe!
my clothes
Work AGAINST ME

They are my enemies
YOU are my enemies
I am my own enemy
IT'S INSIDE MY HEAD

I gotta run now
but I'm troubled
because I cannot see

what lies in the dark?

So I run.
Panic attacks are no joke...except for anyone who isn't having them since your world is not falling apart. It's just a feeling. ****** one, but just a feeling
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