Trigger Warning: mentions of mental illness' including anxiety and depression
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"You seem to be functioning fine."
But am I?
What exactly is 'functioning fine'?
Whatever the hell it is I know that I don't feel it.
You want me to drop to my knees and refuse to do anything?
Pretend that the world stops because I do?
I probably would, if I had less empathy.
Or if I had less anxiety.
Or if I just had depression.
But the thing is, I don't.
I have so many fucking things.
Too many things to be able to cope.
They are battling and they are complicated because of the blood they leave behind.
The alliances that they make, and the enemies they create too.
Everything mixes up.
And I try to explain it, I really do.
But words aren't allowed to escape my throat.
So I have to watch by, as an opportunity passes by.
You don't understand.
No one understands.
I don't even understand.
And it's my fault.
But it's not.
But who else am I to blame for the mistakes of my mind?
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YOU ARE READING
Finding Myself I ▽
Poetry"She painted her soul with words and displayed the pain for all to observe." Where a girl is learning how to love herself and the complicated life she lives.
