If I hear one more person tell
me that the mental illness
that has nestled itself in my
brain is "not a huge issue", I will
draw my daggers, I will take out
the sword that's been sheathed
and swing it with all of my
might; depending on how much
energy is left from an anxiety
attack. one brought on from
someone's stupidity; from
someone need to comment
on something that really wasn't
theres. I do not wear pale pink
but a dark red; I do not smile
happiness I smile "today hasn't
been bad and I have the little
things to be able to radiate joy to". if one more person comes
to me with the words "it's in
your head", I will open up hell
from below and show them that
"it's just in my head." these
battles fought on unseen
battlegrounds are not a territory
for you to tread on. it is a
sacred land that we haunt, a
sacred land where we died and
you built houses full of words
tangled in rose thorns and
poison ivy and claimed them
SAFE TO ENTER, SAFE TO
TELL STORIES OF a unforeseen
cave where crippling anxiety,
depression, eating disorders,
and personality problems are
just a legend for you to tell your
kids. our battle ground is a
ghost town where you find it
fun to tour, it's a wedding of a friends that you never talk to, where you sign the guest book "you're faking it" and leave through the back door. my illness isn't a present I unwrap with gratitude, it is not a ghost that can uphold the argument of "does this really exist", it is a shadow lurker whom appears only to me, only to the beholder, only to the one who manages to understand the darkest corners of its definition and manages to wake up every day to the corners closing in. my illness is not your problem, it is not the way you want it to be, it is not a question of "does this exist", it is a statement of "it does exist", and you cannot tell me that the thorns of something hidden hurt worse than one you can see.
