A Poem

I wake up every morning, wishing that I hadn't
I can't dress up without the fear of panic attacks
I can't wear short sleeves because it will show the cuts on my arms
I can't play sports fearing that I won't be able to breathe
I can't go to assemblies because I shake to much to pay attention
I make lists, pros and cons, where the cons always outway the pros
All I want is for this pain to go away, for something to make this pain go away
I want help, but my mind won't let me ask