When People Ask

When people ask me how I'm doing I want to tell them the truth. 

That my depression is the captor I can not escape from. 

That my heart longs for the attention I don't sustain. 

That my ears burn waiting for you to tell me you feel the same. 

I want to tell you that depression has invited anxiety over.

Again. 

Yes... that is the third time this week. Thanks for noticing. 

Trying to comfort me anxiety wraps me in this blanket of self hate and doubt. 

Putting nothing but suicidal thoughts in my head. 

Anxiety agrees that we would be better off dead but than who would be here to host your party? 

I'm so tired of hosting this party. 

I need to sleep but I can't.

My insomnia has started up again. 

In case you weren't aware insomnia and anxiety are the best of friends. 

Lack of sleep makes it hard to concentrate.

I can only focus on the fact that I can't focus.

I would like to tell you that I am a magician.

If you follow my act you will see that my greatest trick is getting out of bed. 

I have almost mastered it. 

Instead of ruining your day with a truth you never asked to be bombarded with in the first place I transform as a shape-shifter would. 

I am the bare face of a pumpkin the night before Halloween. 

Waiting to be something I am not I carve out my insides and mold my face into the person I aspire to be. 

Shower in confidence and put on the essence of happiness. 

I inhale slowly as I take a deep breath in. 

Exhale. 

Smile. 

"I'm doing fine how about you?"

AngeranxietydepressionFuck Anxiety

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