puddles

I wake up, puddle of sweat. I have nightmares when I get back into bed

It's like these voices just keep playing on repeat, in the back of my head,

and I can't get them to leave me alone. 16 years old, but still hates being alone when I'm home; because that's when the voices get the loudest.

Opening up like this is a moment far from my proudest. But these demons keep pressing me. I swear they're the foulest. But I've grown comfortable with their presence. My conscious is calloused, my dreams are their playground, my thoughts are their palace. I try to evict them, but they return with more. Anxiety isn't an item you can return at the store. I was ten the first time I had a panic attack. Like a punch to the stomach, there's no planning for that.

I didn't tell anyone because I was too scared about what they'd say

and I know deep down there was nothing that they could do to take it away.

It was my fight to fight and my battle to face. I remember that house I grew up in and how those demons would rattle that place. I'd lay awake at night just staring at the ceiling. I've spent my whole life trying to run away from that feeling that feeling of being lonely, that feeling of being lost, that feeling of being sick when the lights turn off. That feeling of being depressed,

that feeling of being anxious, that feeling of screaming to God begging Him to take this to only to get silence in return. I'd lay in that bed crying and I'd toss and I'd turn, and I turn and I toss to this day. The doctors gave me medication, the pastor said “pray.” I tried both and this anxiety still hasn't gone away. So forgive me if I fantasize about it being gone today. I'm an actor who got really good at being one today. But when I get off, I go right back into the shadows. I'm in the deep end now but I started in the shallows and I might just drown myself in these waves. Suburban hell, these homes are all graves.

Everyone's coping with something but won't admit it. They're all too afraid

and these kids are glued to watching me what do I say. If I'm honest with them maybe they won't think highly of me. Everything they want me to be is what I'm dying to be but everything I really am is what I'm trying not to be. I want them to know that they're not alone in their struggles. I wake up in tears and fall back asleep in those puddles