Anxiety. Depression.
They're not things you can define.
It's not "just a phase."

It's like a pit in my stomach,
someone squeezing at my lungs,
a world in black and white
that just won't stop turning
and I'm trying to grasp it
but I'm lost and don't know what to do
and the tunnel's closing in and the light's gotten smaller
so I just stop.

And I'm in this world
this other reality
this pit that I try to climb out of
but the walls are caving as I climb
and I think I'm going up but I'm really going down
so I just sit.

But from my pit I see the world still turning
I see others happy and living and loving and breathing
And I see them with their purpose
I see them with their passion
and I want a purpose
I want a passion
I want a reason to live
to love
to be loved
so I get angry.

And usually anger is bad
usually it destroys
and I'm angry at myself
and I'm angry at my apathy
but my anger fuels a change

so I try to get better.

And I start counting
counting reasons to live
counting days clean
counting times I smile
counting people I love
counting anything that matters to me
because for once, I matter.

and something changes.

I find myself smiling
living, loving, and being loved.
days turning to weeks
weeks turning to months
and the world is still turning
but I'm present with it
no longer in black and white.
I have a passion
I have a purpose
and the anger subsided
and I'm happy.

And for anxiety and depression,
they're not things you can define,
but they don't define me.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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