I used to think relapsing was the worst feeling in the world. But relapsing at a party? Far more terrifying. You rock back and forth, wringing your hands and just trying to keep it under wraps. Your eyes are darting between everything and your mind is running at a million miles per hour. You're claustrophobic, anxious and all you want to do is run. You can't eat, you can't breathe. And yet your mother or your father or your sister sits beside you telling, you to stop. Telling you that you're "making a scene," that you're just freaking yourself out. But it's not your fault. You can't control a relapse, you can't stop it once it's begun. The tears well in your eyes, this time unable to be held back and you rush away from the party to be alone. You sit inside or outside, wherever you can take a moment to breathe, and you do just that. You breathe and you cry and you calm down. But you don't return. You can't. You've embarrassed yourself and you know that if you go back in there, it'll start all over again. So you sit alone in the darkness. And you breathe.
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Short Stories And Such
PoetryJust a collection of short stories and poems that I have written. Some are fictional, some are based off of my own life. I guess I'll just have to leave you to imagine. Disclaimer: As with all poetry, not all of these are about myself and I do not c...
