Mental Mess

I’m a mental mess,

I’m sure that’s what they say.

I can’t hold a conversation,

I can’t get anyone to stay.



I have friends by my side for five minutes,

Before they realise I am a freak.

Who wants to associate themselves anyway

With an anxious and troubled geek?



I make plans which I later cancel,

Because I’m far too drained to go out.

Then I lay in bed feeling guilty,

Full of tension, resentment, and doubt.



‘Hey, are you still with us?’

They laugh, they tease, they mock.

They make fun of my blank face,

I wish I could make it stop.



I try to act like a normal person,

And put my anxieties to the back of my mind.

But there’s only so much I can take,

I can no longer push my emotions aside.



The tapping of keyboards in class,

And the rustling of paper bags,

Makes my senses rapidly heighten,

And I feel like I’m going mad.



Oh look, another notification,

That shrill-like, haunting BING.

My anxiety is now a puppet master,

And I’m the puppet being tugged by its strings.



‘I’ve texted you, are you ignoring me?’

Those five-minute friends say to me,

My pain to them is invisible,

So my tears, they cannot see.



I’m a mental mess,

I’m sure that’s what they say.

But I am trying my very best,

To keep my demons at bay.