A living hell.
Perfectly healthy, but feeling unwell.
Possibly chronic hypertension,
but probably the infection
that is health anxiety.
Panic and anxiety attacks,
being seen as a medical quack.
For medical staff, I'm untreatable.
Because my perceived illness is unbeatable.
Because it's in my head.
You'd think if I knew that, I'd relax instead.
But what if I'm right?
Being afraid of being right
is why my fear is at such a height.
The fear of everything
is like hearing a bell ring
in your head constantly,
constantly feeling more and more unravelled.
And I have traveled
down this road before.
So I can tell you how impossible it is to ignore.
It nags at your brain
until you can't maintain.
And no one can help you
because no one feels what you do.
They know it's just the flu.
You know it's worse than that,
proof's all that you lack.
And you want to cry
because you don't want to die.
And no one understands why you're being dramatic.
But you're not an attention fanatic.
You are anxiety,
and you need vitally
for someone to see you're not delirious.
You need someone to know you're being serious.
And when you feel the height of anxiety and its demands,
just know you're not alone and someone understands.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
