12/06/2021
I'm getting better.
Really
I am.
I still hate how I look.
I still think that life has no meaning.
I still worry over lots of things.
I still don't particularly want to be here.
I still struggle to get out of bed.
But it's almost like I've befriended these things.
I haven't felt absolutely terrible for two weeks now
But it seems a good thing
Is always followed up with a bad.
Like they go hand in hand.
I'm just worried about my pain
Because I haven't gotten rid of the pain.
I've pushed it all into cupboard
And I think the cupboard is getting too full
Like it's waiting to explode
And I'm waiting for it to topple down on top of me.
It's happened before.
Now that I don't feel constant anxiety
Or depression
I feel lonely.
It's fucked up
I know
But like I've said before
Maybe
Depression is my drug
Because with out it
I feel vulnerable.
Exposed.
I feel completely naked.
YOU ARE READING
Me Working Through It
PoetryJust a bunch of poems I write to help get through life. You can see my journey through anxiety, friendships, relationships, sexuality confusion, family nonsense and depression. You might relate. I love comments (including grammar corrections). I do...
