
How do you live being soft-spoken? No shrieking, no debilitating insomnia or an axe in your chest?
How do you go on another day not feeling broken? Do you wake up after good 8 hours more stitched together than the rest?
It’s not a walk in the park to explain how my anxieties and other ticks make a day worse by the second.
Not to brag, but I want to leave my mark: crawling to every finish line with anxiety on my neck,
Yet coming in second.
The moment someone realizes I’m not kidding when I say I’m depressed is a bittersweet melody to my ears –
What a time to be alive, we’ve progressed. What a time to be alive… Now they know my worst fears.
Hope they ignore the tears. And open tears.
-JW