There are cob webs resting in the nooks of my soul where happiness lay its foundation all of those years ago. 

I’ve dusted them aside to make room for the flowers I yearn to watch bloom

and for the canvas I will soon splash with the colorful laughter that is buried within me,

as it is all too ready to regain a comfortable and open presence.

The curve of my smile will be more than just a molded distraction from my crumbling heart,

because my heart is no longer crumbling, but rather growing with the hope that the constriction of its beat is no longer a viable threat.

I never wanted to believe in the light at the end of the tunnel,

I was treading its dark and lonely path for too long to keep the faith that I would discover the end,

however, all I needed to discover was that the way to find that end was to release the tight grip my eyelids had on each other,

to unclench myself from the cold pavement

and remind myself that it was not that which I should be calling home.

Home was calling for me,

not one with a garden, yard or pretty shutters on the windows,

but one which gave life to the words ‘safe haven’.

(Source: wewnetrzna-cisza)

You know what one of the shittest parts of having an anxiety disorder is? How you can’t really tell anyone that you have anxiety because its so goddamn hard so people just think you hate them and that you’re ignoring them or else they think you’re just boring and have nothing to say when really you literally feel like you’re choking just trying to get the words out.

I wish I were dead. There, I said it. I wish I weren’t here anymore, I wish I weren’t alive. I don’t want anymore tomorrows. I don’t want my future. I don’t deserve it. 

I don’t want to live because I don’t think I am worth anything to anyone else, or even myself. I think that everybody would be so much happier without me in their lives. They wouldn’t have a negative friend anymore, I would’t be the anchor in their lives anymore, pulling them down.

Honestly, I try not to tell people about this new anxiety, the panic attacks, the constant worry, the constant thoughts about anything death related. They don’t need to know and I don’t need to be labeled an attention seeker. Of course, it’s hard to always keep it in, especially with the lack of availability my therapist at school has. But honestly, no one person knows everything (besides my therapist). Considering this, you would never think that people did not want me and my negativity around, but I guess they don’t. 

I’m sorry, I truly am sorry. I’m going through something right now and I’m trying to fix it and I’m sorry about my negativity but I’m not sorry that I don’t try to fake damn smiles around any of you - because that won’t help me. Yeah, me. I’m a person with feelings, remember? I was that person that felt awful for you all of those times you needed someone and I felt like I should be that someone. I was the person who gave everything I had to try to make you feel better, even if it didn’t work. I was that person who was always willing to drop everything for you, for anyone. Not because I expected to be paid back later but because I wanted you to feel better right then. Of course, even if we don’t explicitly expect anything from anyone. there’s a small place in the back of our minds that wants to assume that if we were ever in need, those same people we helped would want nothing more than to have our backs. Wrong.

So, I’m not upset right now because I expected people to care and they don’t. I’m upset because I don’t understand different types of people. I don’t understand people who don’t want to drop everything for someone when they need it, who don’t try to go out of their way for the ones they love. I don’t understand insensitivity or tough love in situations where I’m vulnerable - probably because I would never show anybody such when they were in that state. I guess this is a ‘me’ problem, then. It’s not my fault that the people in my life handle situations differently than I do but it is my fault for being sensitive, for hoping with all of my might that someone would notice me feeling as they once did and not turn a cold shoulder but instead, open their arms, heart and ears for me. It’s my fault. Mine. 

That’s why I don’t want to live anymore, because I don’t understand and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll learn and I have learned but I’ll never comprehend. I’ll always be disappointed with this, and uncomfortable with it. I don’t want this discomfort anymore, though, I don’t want anything anymore. 

I’m just, done. 

(If only I had the balls to actually leave this place, if only.)