I Am…

I am…for the most part, lost.

I go through life blinded and unrestrained.

From the sunset until dawn

I roam the empty, quiet world

With a silent voice and confused face upon my shoulders.

I am…sometimes found.

In the creases of the sky

And my own mind, I roam freely.

The warm sun and flower fields compliment

My roaring voice and happy face upon my broad shoulders.

I am…always progressing.

The multitude of my potential never ceases.

My intentions are pure and my heart is healing.

Although I wander in between opposite extremes,

I still manage the middle ground. My shoulders manage the weight of both worlds.

I am the mediator.

I reconciled the beautiful relationship

That my scared inner child

And my blooming proud woman

Forged in the fire of doubt and loneliness.

Our union will only lead to greatness.

I am enough. I am great.

Engulfed by the constant fear of not being enough,

I struggle to meet an unreachable standard

enforced only by me.

Those in my life want me to succeed,

but more than that,

they want me to be happy.

Joy appears unattainable;

looming darkness clouds my perception.

I’m doing everything right,

but still an unavoidable cage of sadness

Keeps me from escaping apathy.

I push through exhaustion to accomplish simple tasks.

It’s difficult to remain hopeful

when you’ve been fighting for so long

and nothing seems to change.

Sometimes I slip up.

Forgetting my medication or not eating enough

can quickly cause me to spiral,

and I stay in bed for days at a time.

But still, I try my best to tame my symptoms.

Resisting the pull of a depressive episode,

I push through my school work.

The perfectionist in me is learning to accept

that it’s better to do something poorly

then not at all.

Oftentimes, I fall behind in school

and struggle to prioritize my health.

There is pride found in going through so much

for so long

and keep going.

By struggling

when I could give up,

I show my strength.

I am resilient

and I am determined to keep living.

do we become what consumes us?

or are we just hidden somewhere beneath it all?

what if it can’t get any worse?

i’m scared of living it

of breathing it all in

until there’s no space between myself

and the shell that i’m piloting

i don’t want to end

knowing that there’s no one out there

who’s really been able to pull back all the layers

who’s seen the battle scars past the surface of my skin

because the truth is that i only inhabit this vessel

and mostly i try to forget it

and mostly i do

but sometimes the realization hits me

that this is not me

and i try to crawl my way out

desperately clawing at the walls of my prison

who’s to say i can’t stay like this forever?

who’s to say i can’t try?