A year ago, I was scared.

I was always nervous, shaking, nothing could've compared

to the feelings I've felt every day, hour, minute,

emotions that always gave me a limit

on what I could do and maintain.

If I spoke, I would have seemed rude or mundane,

all the while hiding my regret

of what I had said, hoping you'd forget.

 

A year ago, I was tired.

I would work through class, but I was never inspired.

Except late at night, when the world was asleep,

I would then make that creative leap.

I would work for an hour, or maybe two;

I would use my feelings, but no one ever knew.

How would they? That I would never share-

I didn't want them to see me as broken and needing of repair.

 

A year ago, I was stressed.

I would get this hard, aching feeling in my chest,

making it hard to breath, and to sleep,

and sometimes it hurt so bad I couldn't even weep.

I would have this feeling most everywhere outside;

the thought of talking to a stranger made me horrified.

I knew it was stupid, that I had nothing to fear,

but I always felt better trapped in my own little sphere.

 

A year later, I'm healing.

The thought of going out with friends sounds appealing.

I want to wear bright clothes, I want to stand out,

I sometimes feel the want to just go about and shout

of how I'm feeling better and want some more friends-

no longer afraid of relationships coming to their ends.

And though I do still sometimes get that harsh, anxious feeling,

I know that no matter what, I can keep on dealing.