Inconsolable

One of the worse parts of anxiety

is the irrational worries and fears

it puts in my head.

Or maybe it’s the hours spent up at night,

lying in bed crying,

where I whisper to myself that it’s not real.

they’ll never happen.

Just keep pushing past them.

But what am I supposed to do

when one of those fear turns out to be true?

The pain going through my being

is inconsolable.

How do I tell myself that nightmares

are not real when they become reality?

Hurricane

I’ve never been one to mind a little rain.

Everything needs a little water to grow.

It’s when the hurricanes hit that I begin to quake.

A little rain won’t hurt they say,

but what do you do when you’re drowning?

Drowning in despair, emotions, thoughts

with no idea when or why the storm had to strike now.

Maybe you’ll get some false hope

in an eye of the storm where

you’ll let yourself believe

that it can get better; it will get better

only to be hit by the other half of the storm,

far more furious than the last.

All you can do is bunker down and stay inside,

hoping that this storm won’t be your last.

But that’s hard to do when you know at the end,

when the sun decides to make a reappearance,

you’ll be faced with the devastation and despair

that came from the havoc and furry of the beast.

It’s hard to let yourself rebuild everything up

when you know that at any moment

another hurricane could strike and tear you right back down.

I’d like to believe that horrible cyclones are few and far between,

but I’m more realistic than that.

Whether I intended to or not, I have to realize

that my life has set its roots on the coastline

and I am forever destined to keep being hit

by bad hurricanes over and over

and the only way out is to either succumb

or get my shit together and move out,

but that’s a lot more strength than you’ll find

behind these batters doors .

Iceberg

Sometimes all I can do

is share just the tip of the iceberg

of what makes me depressed.

It’s usually som superficial reason,

I know.

But I can’t find the words to share

about the tons of heavy ice

beneath the surface

that actually make me want to die.

So no one really understands

what the things weighing me down are.

They just see the silly, stupid things

that set me off on a plunge

and think I’m not worthy of help

or love

or attention

because why would sleeping in

be enough reason to kill yourself?

Nobody cares about that.

So no one hears about all the things that came after

like the dreams

or the self-destructive thoughts

or bringing my worth down.

Or feeling like a failure.

Because why would anyone

understand that all these things

are just a result of sleeping late.

Who am I to Believe?

Who am I to believe

that I can help others

find their place in the world

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that everyone should dream

and pursue those dreams

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that there is good in the world

and it is a joy to be here

when I can’t even

want to stick around?

Control

I like to believe that I am in control.

That I am independent.

I mean I worked my ass off for a degree

by myself.

I saved up for 5 years and bought a car

by myself.

I have a good paying part-time job

by myself.

I’m looking for a big girl career now

by myself.

But yet no matter how what I do

to make myself feel like

an accomplished adult

I will always be trapped.

For I may have a degree,

a car,

a job,

but you will always make sure

that you still control

some small piece of my life

so that I always have to come back

to this horrid place.

You will always keep me dependent

so that I can never escape,

even though this atmosphere is toxic

and is killing me; suffacting me

making my accomplishments

as worthless as myself.