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Description
It's the constant feeling of not quite right
and I don't know why I feel this way but it hurts
(but not in ways that others can understand)
and it's the tension in your chest, the rising water
the aching muscles and the clenching in your core
That never leaves

It's the headache that never quite fades,
just hurts sometimes more than others.
It's the constant need to move with your racing thoughts—
to bounce or twitch or
glance around the room every three seconds just to make sure you're not being watched, you're not being judged

It's two a.m. and you're lying
facedown on top of hot sheets, such an empty shell
you don't even have the energy to cry over how tired you are
wondering if there's any way to turn your mind off,
when you can't even remember what sleep feels like because it's been so long
since you really had a true rest.

It's wandering through your days almost
walking into that door and
not catching half of what your teacher says because your eyes hurt from no sleep
and it's everything you have just to stay awake

It's telling them you're fine and making sure
that every responsibility and task and deadline is met
that you do okay
even when you're not doing okay at all
because there is no pity or lenience in our society for the struggling ones
who have to fight just to keep breathing each day—

It's the fight to wake up and somehow still get out of bed
when all you can do is remember yesterday and how you failed
and what you didn't get done then that you have to do today now and how you
won't get it done now maybe too and you have more things now because it's a new day and
there's so much to do and everything can go wrong and you have had a headache for four days and you haven't slept more than four hours
in two weeks
and your mind conveniently tells you every one of the thousand things that might go wrong if you step out of bed
and all the two thousand things that don't even make sense but scare you anyway
because your mind is a jumbled mess of
chemicals and
messed up pathways that don't let you rest

It's hiding your panic attacks in the bathroom stalls because you can't show your weakness
and feeling like you're going to die as you remind yourself to breathe, air exists,
when you have no more happy mask to hide behind and it's just too much
it's drowning your head in music just to get one second of quiet
and ripping apart your notebook to hide words you scratched in desperation
it's five a.m. essays on how you can't sleep
and just to keep yourself from losing your mind
(if you haven't already)
writing mediocre poetry that no one will read—

Description
It's the constant feeling of not quite right
and I don't know why I feel this way but it hurts
(but not in ways that others can understand)
and it's the tension in your chest, the rising water
the aching muscles and the clenching in your core
That never leaves

It's the headache that never quite fades,
just hurts sometimes more than others.
It's the constant need to move with your racing thoughts—
to bounce or twitch or
glance around the room every three seconds just to make sure you're not being watched, you're not being judged

It's two a.m. and you're lying
facedown on top of hot sheets, such an empty shell
you don't even have the energy to cry over how tired you are
wondering if there's any way to turn your mind off,
when you can't even remember what sleep feels like because it's been so long
since you really had a true rest.

It's wandering through your days almost
walking into that door and
not catching half of what your teacher says because your eyes hurt from no sleep
and it's everything you have just to stay awake

It's telling them you're fine and making sure
that every responsibility and task and deadline is met
that you do okay
even when you're not doing okay at all
because there is no pity or lenience in our society for the struggling ones
who have to fight just to keep breathing each day—

It's the fight to wake up and somehow still get out of bed
when all you can do is remember yesterday and how you failed
and what you didn't get done then that you have to do today now and how you
won't get it done now maybe too and you have more things now because it's a new day and
there's so much to do and everything can go wrong and you have had a headache for four days and you haven't slept more than four hours
in two weeks
and your mind conveniently tells you every one of the thousand things that might go wrong if you step out of bed
and all the two thousand things that don't even make sense but scare you anyway
because your mind is a jumbled mess of
chemicals and
messed up pathways that don't let you rest

It's hiding your panic attacks in the bathroom stalls because you can't show your weakness
and feeling like you're going to die as you remind yourself to breathe, air exists,
when you have no more happy mask to hide behind and it's just too much
it's drowning your head in music just to get one second of quiet
and ripping apart your notebook to hide words you scratched in desperation
it's five a.m. essays on how you can't sleep
and just to keep yourself from losing your mind
(if you haven't already)
writing mediocre poetry that no one will read—