Bridget Mick - February 1, 2024
Artwork by - Caitlyn Zmich
They told me I would be fine.
I thought that I would progress.
But I’m at this huge party,
and I feel like such a mess.
My stomach, a heavy weight
dropping straight down to the floor,
I shift from my position
and reach for the bathroom door.
But there’s no strength in my hands,
there’s no place to turn and hide.
My secret’s out and open.
My fears have come to life.
My heart now beating quicker,
rushing thoughts with no escape,
each time I finally kill them,
they return in stronger shape.
So why isn’t this working?
It’s what they told me to do:
“When you start to feel this way:,
take a breath and you’ll get through.”
But an invisible hand
clenches hard on my throat’s walls–
shallow breath entering in
though my chest rises and falls.
Why did I ever have hope?
How dumb, naive could I be?
To think that some fancy test
or small pills could set me free?
People can’t know I’m like this.
They will think I’m something less.
But I’m stuck at this huge party
smothered by nothingness.