A poem for the time being

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Mental Illnesses work like a magnifying glass

They say it does that because of the hormones:

Serotonin and Noradrenalin and Dopamine

Everything is magnified; Everything that shouldn’t be

Pain, magnified; sorrow, magnified; hatred, magnified; rage, magnified; betrayal, magnified; anxiety, magnified;

But most of all, despair, magnified.

It’s not just in my head anymore, it’s in my body.

Let me tell you how:

Pain burns in my abdomen like a third degree burn;

Sorrow feels like a pit of doom, but it’s all in my stomach;

Hatred burns my chest like I’ve inhaled a deadly gas;

Rage makes my hands shake like I’m incapable of controlling my own limbs;

Betrayal burns my eyes and collapses my knees;

Despair makes me cry and my throat dry and parched (I tried drinking lots of water, but that didn’t work)

I can’t swallow or speak when I’m in despair

And with the anxiety, my fingers bleed (Not on their own accord, of course. I chew my nails and pull my skin away, bit by bit)

So much for it being only a “mental” illness; I feel far too much in my body

(P.S: I’m not crazy. I’m normal. And I found my friends, they’re in my head)

I could be the next Sylvia Plath, or the next Lisbeth Salander, or the next Amy Dunne.

But I could also be the new me.

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