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Mentions of battling an anxiety disorder.
I wake up each day, thinking this time it would be different
That this time, for once, I wouldn’t have my mid-week meltdown
That I wouldn’t call in sick when really, it’s my mind that’s ailing
That it isn’t the flu, it’s my anxiety
That this is not a disease, but a disorder
Which orders me into this cycle of hiding, fighting and failing
Falling flat on my face and dignity
On the pillow, muffling my sobs
Each time I stay in, give in and sleep it off
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Get AccessBut then, there are small victories
Strewn apart, like wildflowers on dank crevices
Maybe this time it wouldn’t be so different
Maybe I would still have my midweek-meltdown
Maybe this time it would be different, but just a little
And that’s okay, for now
Recovery is not a race, lapses are not relapse
Your life wouldn’t start afresh
But it wouldn’t end this way either
