poetry

Fuck Anxiety.

Maybe I should read a book.
(No. You should be revising for your exam in two weeks. You’ve hardly done any revision over the last few weeks and you’ll fail at this rate.)

Maybe I should revise for my exam.
(Yeah, but you could look for jobs, so you don’t look like a failure and lazy to your family.)

Maybe I should look for jobs.
(What’s the point? You’ll only apply for a job, wait for two days, get the “Sorry, you’re not good enough” email and then cry yourself to sleep, and do the same thing in two weeks.)

Maybe I should talk to friends.
(But they all have busy lives. They all have jobs and relationships and you have fucking nothing. NOTHING. Besides,  they don’t want to talk to you. You’re really awkward to talk to, and you distance yourself from them all of the time. No wonder they never talk to you.)

Maybe I should go for a run, calm myself down.
(But it’s too hot to go for a run. And it’s half term so there are more people around to see you and you could get stabbed or worse someone might laugh at you and then you’ll get upset and then you’ll have a panic attack and you’ll never go running ever again)

Fuck Anxiety.

“Things Will Get Better”

I really hate it,
When people say to me,
“Things will get better”


Will they?
Because I haven’t seen my life improve.
If anything,
It’s stayed the same,
Over the last seven months.

And when?
When will it get better?
In a few days,
Months,
Or Years?

I know.
I’m being selfish.
I’m being ungrateful.
I’m sorry.
I know people want to help.

But those four words are meaningless
They mean nothing to me.
And I just want to scream back at them.

Does that make me a bad person?