City Life.

I could never live in a city.

The cattle of people swarming the streets

the smell of the subway

sends me into a blind panic.

I forget to breathe

even if it is breathing in the city air

of hotdog carts and manhole cover steam.

My heart is in my throat

and I would hate to feel that way everyday.

I could never live in a city.


My anxiety has been bad.

Maybe I should tell my therapist

but I always change the subject

to something I can control

with out even realizing

but then after the session

I get smashed with anxiety

reliving moments

one after another

good and bad.

Maybe I should talk to my therapist

because my anxiety is getting bad.

It’s been hard

It’s been hard.

Hard to be without love and wanting.

It makes me want to quit

and hide away forever

let depression win over me.

I have been quiting lately

and people worry.

I worry.

I always say

I’m fine, if I stop writing then worry.

But I did stop.

And the black hope came in a swooped over me.

It’s been hard.

Hard to know that I will be attending an unveiling for my poppi in a few days.

It’s been hard.


Lately I haven’t known what to write.

So I don’t.

It’s becoming a struggle to even think about writing

but I love it

and I power through to find something to write about

even if it’s just about not writing.

Growing pains

She’s mad. She is ignoring you. She hates you.

These are the thoughts running through my head.

I know that she is busy.

I know she is working.

I know this

but I can’t shake the feeling that my anxiety is right.

My anxiety overcomes me like

the black plague

killing 1/3 of my body.

But my coping skills are telling me to talk to her.

So I do.

And it turns out

her body is covered with the black plague as well.

And anxiety becomes the language of our relationship

chipping away at what it once was

and because we have a deep connection

we will lean on each other through the growing pains

and become stronger.

Security blanket

I feel like wearing a dress today

because I went shopping for cute things.

I was gonna wear the dress that make me feel beautiful.

But my mind it saying

That is too much for therapy.

I hate that

in my head I need a special occasion

to look beautiful.

But I told myself I was gonna wear a dress.

Not because I want to

but because it’s hot and I need a reason

to look nice.

I am nervous to hear what my therapist is going to say.

My hair is done.

I am wearing a dress.

She will probably say

You look so nice! I’m so glad you are feeling better.

Which scares me.

Because my depression is my security blanket.

I don’t know how to live my life