A Poetic Fantasy
Posted by LyrieuxDaere
12th Mar 2012

I don't know where to turn most of the time. My feelings this morning were that of anxiety and panic attacks; and I was only getting on a bus. The point was; I was outside. I don't like going outside, it makes me feel vulnerable. So getting on a bus, for over half-an-hour, on my own, was a big deal.

I had recently told myself to stop being so pathetic; try and get yourself back into education. (I dropped out of Sixth form in September because I found it all so very overwhelming and everything else on top of it... its not worth thinking about)

I was on my way to a course; A panic attack waiting for the bus; A panic attack on the bus; A panic attack when I got off the bus. None of those includes the difficulty breathing when I was waiting outside the sports complex. It wasn't a very nice looking place and when someone came up to me asking if I would like to buy some drugs; well... that was it.

I managed to persuade myself to go inside and into the class. It was full of the social group I do not enjoy conversing with... And it made it harder for me. I left at lunchtime. I was questioned about the scratches on my arm and why I looked in pain as I sat there, practically motionless.

I couldn't have got out any sooner. But now I have to live with the fact I'm a complete failure. I couldn't even attend a 3week course for more than a day. I quit. I failed. Again. I always fail. Nothing good happens. I need to do something because Mom always complains about not having enough money now that I'm out of education. I have to do something but I just cant. I cant find the strength to do it.

I cant even go to the doctors for help. I cant. I'm afraid. I cant sit in front of someone and tell them what's wrong. Its against me. I get nervous and pass out. I just cant do it.

But I need help. I know I do. But I cant.

So. I've gone back to writing poetry. I know it wont help much; but writing stories, a novel I have on the go and poetry is what I really enjoy;

Why don't we take a walk down the memory road?
Where the mist swirls thick and the metal corrodes,
Gravestones line the grey stone cobbled path,
The distant pond like a green rotting bath.

The sky is black and full of stars that glisten bright,
But not one shines on you; its sharp whitened light,
You walk alone down the road of your pain,
You walk down that road with not much to gain.

The cold hands of the dead reach out towards your feet,
Their body's still laying under the old ground beneath,
Hop your way over their bone gripping hands,
Close your eyes since the world misunderstands.

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