Fáilte

You wake up.

You lay there,

Unable to move.

Eyes open, mind empty,

Confused,

Hungry, but no appetite.

You forget the thought of food.

You find your way to the restroom, fighting every muscle ache the depression is letting off with every step you take.

It takes away energy, you didn’t even have a chance to make.

You sit there for a while,

Just staring at the tiles.

Trying to make sense of everything around you,

Trying to wake yourself up.

You’re awake, but you’re not you.

You’re not there, you’re dissociating.

You’re aware of this; but still cannot move.

You’re crying inside, screaming to be set free. And eventually, the realization starts to hit, and you know you have to make a move.

You stand back up, and

you drag your exhausted feet across the floor, to go and medicate.

Pack, light, inhale, exhale, breathe. Repeat.

It has become a routine,

One you have become far too familiar with.

You’re trying;

You try and it doesn’t help.

You feel, like a lost cause;

Because it should help, but its not.

So you walk right back up stairs,

Angry, sad, happy, ecstatic, depressed, anxious, livid, confused, all. At. The. Same. Time.

You find yourself Crawling back into the safe, warm blanket..

That just doesn’t quite feel..the same.

So you twist,

And you turn,

Until you meet the horrific, terrifying, and stone cold..

Anxiety..

The shaking, the irritability, the crying for hours, the nauseousness, and the need to “feel better”...but you can’t.

Despite everybody’s advice, your hands, ice cold, needing somebody to hold....

Me.

You lay there, unable to breathe properly because your brain is telling you..

You’re worthless. You’re a lost cause. You’re beyond saving. You are ugly. You will never be loved.

The list can go on forever..

Scratching your skin, trying to feel anything but the emotions that you did not ask for..

and suddenly..

Its 4pm.

You’re just now leaving your bed,

because the low blood sugar had started affecting you to the point you are shaking uncontrollably.

You force down the first thing in sight because you have no appetite

and your brain is wired to believe food is bad.

Every swallow is painful.

All you see is calories rather than nutrition.

All you see are pounds & inches.

You find yourself on the scale every morning; Wondering if that extra pound was from the granola bar you were so afraid to eat.

You medicate some more and realize you can’t sleep.

You stare at the wall for hours, zoning out like a zombie,

Conversations with the demon in your head, all i want to do is GO TO BED.

and you sit and tell yourself you’re fine

You’re fine you’re fine.

you close your eyes and go numb, as if there is a button, that was pressed,

Soon the insomnia fades away,

and you do the

Same

Exact

Thing,

The very,

me:

me:

me: