I Would Keyboard Spam but That doesn't Look Good

It takes the tiniest thing to start it.

The smallest mistake, the tiniest fuck up, and I'm going.

Suddenly every little thing is a big screw up or a fluke and I don't deserve to be here

Can't describe the begining.

Pressure?

A buildup in the face. The mind. Behind the eyes. A dam about to burst.

Shaking hands. Numbness. Absence.

Asking to leave.

Run to the bathroom and throw up. Claw at my arms. Hold to the toilet like an anchor

because letting go will make me slip away forever and I want to but I don't want to

and mabye it will help but maybe and won't help

and crying and wanting to die but wanting to live and wanting to suffer and just

wanting to be normal, dammit!

Anxiety kills.

This poem is about: 
Me

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