I’m a mental mess,
I’m sure that’s what they say.
I can’t hold a conversation,
I can’t get anyone to stay.
I have friends by my side for five minutes,
Before they realise I am a freak.
Who wants to associate themselves anyway,
With an anxious and troubled geek?
I make plans which I later cancel,
Because I’m far too drained to go out.
Then I lay in bed feeling guilty,
Full of tension, resentment and doubt.
‘Hey, are you still with us?’
They laugh, they tease, they mock.
They make fun of my blank face,
I wish I could make it stop.
I try to act like a normal person,
And put my anxieties to the back of my mind.
But there’s only so much I can take,
I can no longer push my emotions aside.
The tapping of keyboards in class,
And the rustling of paper bags,
Makes my senses rapidly heighten,
And I feel like I’m going mad.
Oh look, another notification,
That shrill-like, haunting BING.
My anxiety is now a puppet master,
And I’m the puppet being tugged by its strings.
‘I’ve text you, are you ignoring me?’
Those five-minute friends say to me,
My pain to them is invisible,
So my tears, they cannot see.
I’m a mental mess,
I’m sure that’s what they say.
But I am trying my very best,
To keep my demons at bay.
Image Credit: Sydney Sims