Eighteen percent of the population, forty million adults.
They all suffer... They all suffer from anxiety.
Lost in society with no grasp on their sobriety.
The short loss of their sanity when someone mistakenly touches them.
They all suffer from the need to scream at the wrong words,
Everything they see looks blurred,
Everything they say seems to go unheard.
I suffer, I suffer from anxiety.
The click click click of my pen when I see scary looking men,
When someone bumps me in the hall time and time again.
My brain flips from word to word
trying to decide what is worth being heard.
But it can't.
So I remain silent. My thoughts stay private and life moves on.
I am one of life's pawns.
I am trapped in my own mind trying,
trying so hard to find someway to blend with mankind.
I put my game face on to hide the race of anxiety in my head.
But all you need to do is say the right thing and my brain goes dead
as the tears begin to stream.
It's as if pain doesn't exist if you're not bleeding or broken,
I am broken, not physically but mentally.
Some of the worst pain you can feel is on the inside.
That pain... That pain is anxiety.
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