Finding five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.
Lying with your sweat soaked back against the coolest object you can find.
Sweat dripping down your forehead, to your nose, and to the floor as you reel in anguish.
Clenched fists, heavy breathing, fluttering eye lashes.
It’s always a little bit different.
But it always feels the same.
Locking yourself inside; feeling like solitary confinement.
Feeling so alone, but never wanting to go out.
Making plans and backing out.
Struggling to motivate yourself to do anything other than stare at a wall.
Being flaky even though you really don’t want to be.
Fountains of tears flow.
Some days are high and many days are low.
It’s impossible to catch your breath.
Pounding your fist against the walls.
Shaking, shaming, falling.
Everyday is a mental battle.
The struggle to get out of bed.
The motivation to do anything lingers in the air.
Then the guilt of not having completed one task overwhelms.
Some days are laughter, bright eyes, and optimism with a full cup.
Lots of days are dark, shallow with an empty cup.
No one can possibly understand the war going on inside your head.
The feelings of inadequacy and shame.
Many hard days add up to many hard weeks.
Sheltering yourself from the outside world.
Battling something so ferocious inside.
You seem normal to everyone around.
Inside you’re dying.
Inside you’re at war.
It’s ugly.
It’s messy.
It’s unbearable.
Yet you live with the pain everyday.
Deep breaths it will be over soon.
The gut wrenching pain has to come to an end.
Better days are ahead.
Sweat dripping down your forehead, to your nose, and to the floor as you reel in anguish.
Clenched fists, heavy breathing, fluttering eye lashes.
It’s always a little bit different.
But it always feels the same.
Locking yourself inside; feeling like solitary confinement.
Feeling so alone, but never wanting to go out.
Making plans and backing out.
Struggling to motivate yourself to do anything other than stare at a wall.
Being flaky even though you really don’t want to be.
Fountains of tears flow.
Some days are high and many days are low.
It’s impossible to catch your breath.
Pounding your fist against the walls.
Shaking, shaming, falling.
Everyday is a mental battle.
The struggle to get out of bed.
The motivation to do anything lingers in the air.
Then the guilt of not having completed one task overwhelms.
Some days are laughter, bright eyes, and optimism with a full cup.
Lots of days are dark, shallow with an empty cup.
No one can possibly understand the war going on inside your head.
The feelings of inadequacy and shame.
Many hard days add up to many hard weeks.
Sheltering yourself from the outside world.
Battling something so ferocious inside.
You seem normal to everyone around.
Inside you’re dying.
Inside you’re at war.
It’s ugly.
It’s messy.
It’s unbearable.
Yet you live with the pain everyday.
Deep breaths it will be over soon.
The gut wrenching pain has to come to an end.
Better days are ahead.
