Note: This poem is something I wrote last night during a really bad anxiety and depression episode. I do mention suicide, death, and other triggering thoughts. I wanted to give my readers a heads up. Thank you.
Anxiety is the constant lingering feeling in the back of your mind, pestering you and making you question your every movement, thought, or idea. It’s the paranoia you have, constantly worrying or in fear if you made the person you’re interested in, romantically or as a friend, uncomfortable. The feeling of anxiety is laying down on your bed, trembling in fear to go to sleep because you’re afraid of what tomorrow will hold for you. It’s the element in your mind that holds you back from what you love, going for something you have a passion for, because you’re afraid that someone has done it better than you, or that people will look down upon you.
Depression is the shadowy figure that hovers behind you, reminding you, out of nowhere, “Remember that dumb thing you did or say so and so years ago? Yeah, lets relive that feeling again.” It’s the gray cloud that’s above your head, pouring down thunder and lighting as you cry in your bed late at night, thinking why did that person walked out of your life, or what could you have done better, or why you’re not where you should be in life. The feeling of depression is laying on a cold floor, begging for death, because death sounds like a better option than living another day in pain. Depression is washing your face with cold water, going out into the world with a mask that has a painted smile, and hoping no one questions you, because you’d much rather hide the pain than worry others or make the focus on you, knowing others have it much worse.
A mental illness is a present given to you that you never wanted or even hinted of wanting. Having a mental illness is like a gray hair. You can paint it to hide it, but it’ll grow back eventually, having you to paint it again and again. You can take all the medicines or products in the world, but it’s still a part of you. It shows it’s possible that you can talk to other people about it who struggle, but others may deal with their gray hairs differently than you or may not understand your own personal struggle. Even if you get a gray hair young, you stress and worry how people will see you, focus on if people will tease you, and obsess over it. You can cover, talk, or hide your mental illness, but just because it’s portrayed as invisible, doesn’t mean it’s not real.
Hope is the feeling you hold on to. Hope is that person that gives you the best hug you’ve ever been given, telling you, “Everything will be ok”. Hope is that first step out the door after crying in your room for days, taking in the sun, and reassuring yourself that you can overcome this feeling. The idea of hope is that feeling of finally reaching the top of the water you were drowning in, gasping air, and smiling that you were able to get through this wave. Having hope is questioning if you should live, but then remembering there’s still time to turn this all around.
I know this was more different than how I type my posts, but I haven’t been well these past few days. I’ve been struggling financially and mentally, and all these thoughts were racing in my head. It’s alright to vent sometimes, and my blog is a safe space. It’s a place I want you, my readers, to turn to and read my stories, know that you’re not alone, and join to help one another. My blog may not be about fashion, music, books, or any of that, but it’s me. It’s a page by page look into my world, my thoughts, my struggles, my fears, my dreams, and my hope.
As I've said many times, I never want you all to feel you're alone in this. That's why I make these sort of posts. I'm not perfect, I'm not always positive or happy. I'm just a person, but I still plan to overcome my struggles, and I know you can too. It would mean so much to me if you could share this, so others can also see they're not alone and can always reach out if they need help. Thank you so much for reading.
*Photo by Nicole Mason on Unsplash