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  • Writer's pictureErin

a tainted mirror.

mornings are the hardest:

the waking up,

the getting out of bed,

the forcing myself to be human.


forcing myself to be.


it's no easier at night, though.

it isn't easier in the middle of the day.

there's that tight, unbearable, swallowing-me-whole and burning deep feeling in my chest.


my skin crawls.


fuck,

does it crawl.


my intrusive thoughts call out to me from dark shadows of my room,

or the corners of every street.

they're there when I talk to someone I love deeply,

or when I drive alone.


they call out my name like a best friend.


they consume me and eat me alive.


every minute I'm drowning in the ocean.

the waves are every fear, every anxiety, every scary thought.


my thoughts are dark.


I have to fight my mind most days.


remind myself that the words aren't real.

they can't feel and only I can.

they aren't mine.


the demons that are my repetitions and obsessions haunt me every second.


they make me believe that I'm not real - none of this is.

this is all purgatory and I am reliving today from an outside perspective.


a tainted mirror.


a fogged window.


life beyond this world.


time is rushing and lethargic all in one breath.

I feel as though I'm fifteen days ahead,

but ten steps back.


no one gets the demons in my vision.

or loss of breath when I let go.

or even the wish for everything to stop.


the same repetitive advice given to me by anyone who sees a fraction of what I feel is this:


"don't let them win."


they tell me I only focus on the black empty spots around me,

not the beaming rays of the sun.


how do I focus on the angels,

when the demons are screaming at the top of their lungs?


*an honest poem about how I have been feeling, what it's like living with bipolar, ocd, and anxiety. a true thing*


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