disjointed

Fri, 12/23/2016 - 17:28 -- okoesel

and i have anxiety terrors, you know, the ones that have you shooting upright at two in the morning because

 

oh shit, you said something that maybe your friend thought was rude?

 

and how are you gonna apologize now, this happened a week ago, oh god, rethinking every interaction from a month back, where did i go wrong?

 

do they hate me?

 

no, they seemed fine yesterday, but was it fine before that?

 

did they already hate me, and are just grinning and bearing my presence ’til i figure it out and leave?

 

should i leave?

 

or

 

damn, my coffee mug is still in my backpack from this—no, yesterday—morning, and my lunch bag too, and dance clothes, and, and,

 

or

 

fuck, i have an essay due that i haven’t started, or just barely, or not done well enough, could do better, should, but can i?

 

or, most embarrassing

 

shitfuck, i didn’t do my snapchat streaks today, and i ignored fifteen text messages from someone i really shouldn't ignore

 

and it’s only most embarrassing because this is what breaks you

 

something so simple

 

so fucking easy

 

that you could have done in two minutes just a couple of hours ago,

 

but you were so stuck in your own goddamn head that you couldn't bother to reply

 

and that's gotta say something about your mental state, huh, that you were too fucked up to check your goddamn phone when your mom’s always yelling at you to put the goddamn thing away, anyway, and do the homework that

 

you know you’re not gonna do, that you've been putting off for five hours no, just wasting time doing so much nothing,

 

your grades are slipping again

 

you’re slipping again

 

fuck, not again, i can’t get like this again

 

then

 

well what good is it gonna do me now, it’s two in the goddamn morning

 

save the crisis for the morning—later in the morning—where you fake being a functional person

 

fake being okay, at least for a while,

 

before someone asks if you're okay, and you just give that broken smile, the one that says

 

oh honey, you can't honestly think i’m doin’ alright

 

before you turn away and pointedly ignore the concerned looks they send to you, to the people around you

 

the ones who say are your friends but are they lying?

 

and you close your eyes,

 

no, not now,

 

can't deal with this right now

 

have a breakdown—yes, another one—later, you need sleep

 

but your heart is pounding and you’re wide awake so you lay there for what feels like an hour

 

but is really only ten minutes

 

for your heart to calm down again

 

and you to drift back

 

asleep

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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