Coffee and poetry

Storm Clouds and Anxiety Attacks

Anxiety is the name of the reason I can't sleep at night.
Tossing and turning while looking around in the darkness as if I'll find the answers to my problems written in red ink across those cream colored walls.
Anxiety is a text at three in the morning saying 'hey u awake?' when all you want to be is asleep.
Anxiety is the friend that isn't really a friend, but still comes over whenever they want because they are more attached to you than you are to them.
Some days I feel like anxiety is the closest thing I have to a friend; a companion.
Most anyone I talk to about my anxiety will simply tell me that I am overreacting or I am a burden; my anxiety isn't the problem, I am.
But my emotions are louder than most, drowning out the words 'I love you' from those who mean the most to me.
And I feel guilty for it, guilty for my emotions as if I could pick and choose how I feel as if I am choosing fruit from the grocery store.
I constantly feel like a burden for my emotions, constantly feel guilty for being myself, for being a storm of emotions.
It has taken me a long time, but I have realized that I am not a calm stream like I had always wished I was, no, I am a storm cloud.
I am a storm cloud; thunderously loud with a spark that is brighter than the sun.
I crave life like a plant craves water, only the water I absorb falls from my eyes in buckets upon buckets.
It nurtures me, these tears, and brings on a sense of feeling that is far stronger than I ever wanted.
I am a storm cloud, and on my bad days, I let out the thunder from the deepest parts of my lungs as if simply screaming into my pillow is enough to make the sorrow go away.
And on my good days, when I'm feeling as bright as a flash of lightening, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I am enough.
I am enough for myself, and that is all that matters.