stigmatic

who cares?

anyone?

no.

no one cares,

so

i have to.

i have to let everyone know that

there are people

maybe in your class

who find it more than hard -

insufferable even -

to make it through the day.

eating an apple is like

moving a fucking mountain.

looking away from the silver metal slab is like

getting torn in half.

keeping dinner down is like

condemning yourself to

an eternity of lethargy.

simple conversation with teachers or strangers is like

eviscerating yourself

with a crowbar

and sometimes it's too much.

too many things to worry about.

you might see people

pulling their hair out

or

picking their skin.

we aren't crazy.

rocking back and forth

can help

and yet

horror movies

and teenagers

and critical adults

make it out to be insane

and weird.

our coping mechanisms

are made fun of

by kids,

even friends,

who know nothing of

the pain we're feeling.

ripping your hair out

is not funny.

it should not be dramatised.

self harm

is not funny.

they aren't behaviours

that mean we should be put in straight jackets

and carted away.

because

we're not a fucking disease,

something to be afraid of.

people need to know

that the world is not all

peachy keen.

kids with mental illnesses

shouldn't want to run away

daily.

there oughtta be help somewhere

that isn't a cushy therapist's office.

are you listening?

listen to my words.

insanity and

depression,

anxiety,

bulimia,

anorexia,

trichotillomania,

dermatillomania,

o.c.d.,

insomnia,

bipolar disorder...

they're not the same.

we're reaching out and

we don't deserve

to fall.

no one deserves it.

......and.

no matter what you tell yourself,

suicide is not the answer.

there are people

who would be

crushed

to lose you.

teach everyone that

mental illnesses

won't kill you.

you're strong and powerful,

your voice has meaning,

and

we need you.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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