At night I used to struggle to breathe.

Metaphorically I drowned in my own breath as I realized my room was filled with irony.

My bed was a trap and made me a prisoner of my own head,

And my thoughts were shackles, and like my tears I wanted to leave.

But I never could. My daily anxiety crippled me in the night,

And forced me to pick at my wounds.

I would always ask "Why? Why won't you let me die?"

But I never got an answer from you.

My bed is no longer a safe place!

All of my dreams are now haunted,

And i can't find refuge in any space.

I'd lost my will and existing wasn't what i wanted.

But I couldn't give up, not now not ever!

Everyday I pushed off my bed and got up 

until the day it became a fruitful endeavor

I didn't give up.

I could finally breathe, my tears were no longer respirators.

A year and now I'm close to the man I've wanted to be.

My mental scars are nothing  more than reminders of my sins,

and I can now live life optimistically.

I can grasp any fear and tame it.

I can make my own decisions, my own future, my own thoughts, and I can now live honestly