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Baylee Sep 2015
Much like being trapped in an elevator,
Awaiting your rescue,
Wondering if you should be the one to save yourself,
But you start panicking once the doors wont open,
You feel yourself shrinking,
Drowning in your thoughts,
Internally collapsing from the stress,
You begin to hyperventilate,
But not audibly, no, it's completely silent,
The utter silence itself is deafening,
You question the stability and structure
Of the suspended room that your life is being held in,
Back to the silence, was that a creaking sound
Or are you just starting to become paranoid now,
Is someone on the outside trying to pry the doors open
To help rescue you, and get you out,
Or is someone simply mindlessly hitting the elevator button
Waiting for it to come, though it never will,
Surely they'll become annoyed and just take the stairs,
But how are you supposed to get out of this situation,
This state of complete panic, you start to sob,
And that's when you realize that this is what anxiety feels like.
After a recent experience of getting trapped in an elevator, those minutes you're waiting to be saved seem like the longest moments of your life, specially for someone who already has an underlying fear of elevators. Not to mention the fact that you're someone who has serious anxiety problems, so this situation only makes you reflect outward and even further inward on yourself.
Lex Apr 2014
Mascara stained tears running down my cheeks as I cry.
My leg becoming numb from the constant shaking of my sobbing body.
My lungs, feeling empty, even when I take the biggest of gasps.
My body begging for air.
Begging for love.
Begging for a hug from someone, and encouraging words to fall from their lips, though it's covered up.
Begging for someone to tell me that I'll be alright.
Staring at my ceiling during the sleepless nights I encounter, though nobody knows.
My aching body, exhausted when I need to get ready to go out everyday, though it's covered up.
My pounding headache, and loss of concentration, covered up.
Nobody knows how I feel, because it's covered up.
My vulnerability hiding behind a sheer cover foundation layer of happiness.
Some see right through it, but you don't.
You force yourself to think I'm okay, when I'm not.
And then you try to force me too.
I know this poem is like really messy and jumbled up, but so is my brain.

— The End —