Busy Poem by Cloe C

I'm sorry I lied and I said I was busy, I was busy just not in a way most people understand. I was busy calming a racing heart. I was busy trying to stop the fountain coming from my eyes. I was busy silencing irrational thoughts. I was busy hugging myself telling myself it was going to be okay. And I was busy fighting the demons that told me I wasn't worth it. So I'm sorry I lied, but this is my busy. And I will keep being busy because anxiety decides that it's a ghost and it needs a body to possess. It feels the need to have feeling, to want, to need. Except I'm the unwilling host that is supposed to invite anxiety in. Except I don't I don't want this, any of this. I couldn't even keep a log of all the nights I went restless, all the invitations I turned down because I was too afraid to leave the comfort of my house. And all the emptiness I feel because I'm drained from being uneasy. I feel I am drowning in my own tears. I can not breathe and it feels my lungs will explode. When did I stop becoming a person and started becoming a symptom. I wake up, but I don't get up. I stay in bed until my bladder is at the brink of exploding. I neglect food because its just a mess and I'll need to eat later again anyways. I go back to my bed, brush my teeth? Why bother, ill stay in bed some more. What movie can I binge watch next. I don't even like this movie but it keeps me away from my thoughts. Im so sick and tired of being mentally sick and tired. I have no motive, I feel empty. I don't even have blood in my body, I have no air in my lungs, im just skin. Nothing else. No wonder I can't get out of bed because I have no muscle from laying and fighting demons all day. Every time I get up, gravity pulls me right back down. I can not think straight, I have no concentration and my mind can only wonder into ways and reasons I'm not deserving