The Illness

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We are taught from a young age the drill; to sit quiet and be still-
The fear of the "how dare you speak when you are not spoken to!"

So we sat quiet with our little mouths closed, and our little eyes open.

Wide eyes never questioned the way of the world which should have so quickly been called to questioning

Because I'm now in a place full of second-guessings and miscommunication where the

people who are meant to be idolised are painted with beautiful lies,
And it's sickening. 

Some days I am so grateful for the constant reminders given to me by my anxiety that I do not fit in, they inspire
me so beautifully with images of my slit wrists bleeding out in bathroom stalls

Screaming it would all be worth it in the end.

On the better days I am a bubble. I can float carefree and look down on the world around with nothing else but a smile and the excitement of the world and my future filled with possibilities

But when the bubble pops, the possibilities become my enemies,
And I'm left to free-fall through the time hole of my mistakes

And yes it can be as rapid as the jump in these very lines,

Some times it can be longer than lapping the world

Most of the time my days are spent counting down every moment before it may come.

You
Know
What
They
Say;

"What comes up must eventually come down."

Oh, it does.

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