She's A Wave by Simeon Smith


I suffer from Generalised Anxiety and Depression. 

She’s a wave. She comes and goes. Sometimes I feel I’m drowning in her. Other times she can barely reach my ankles. 

She’s a minor wardrobe malfunction, like forgetting socks at a conference. Unless you’re really paying attention you probably wouldn’t notice her, but she robs me of confidence, and I find her so hard to ignore. 

She’s a rucksack full of rocks. Walking around with her all day is fucking tiring, but you get used to her, and when she occasionally lifts, I feel unbelievably weightless. 

She's a tapeworm. Depressed? Eat. Stressed? Eat. Tired? Eat. 

She’s a stalker following me from afar. Sometimes in the back of my mind, but then I see her, and spiral out of control.

She can’t run as fast as I can, so I run. But what she lacks in physical speed, she makes up in endurance. 

She can’t ride a bike, or swim.

She loves alcohol and uses it to grow tenfold.

She hates Sertraline, but loves to tell me that one day she’ll grow immunity. 

She’s glued my toothbrush to the sink. It’s nearly impossible to lift it. 

She lives in every blank space on every form I’ve ever struggled through. She tortures me with paperwork. 

I suffer from Generalised Anxiety and Depression. 

She fucks me over. 

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