In my eyes

‘In my eyes’ is a self expressive, poeticly raw approach of tackling how we, ‘ourselves’ feel while dealing with anxiety and depression.

In my eyes, I see such beauty around me but feel a dreaded closeness to an uglier side of self abuse. I see people breathing whilst in my eyes it literally feels as if I can see the oxygen from my lungs leaving and never returning. I enhale the salbutamol that comes out of the Asthma puffer I usually carry with me when I feel as if I can’t breathe, although my airways don’t need to be opened, my hyperventilation could have told me that.. but in my eyes there’s a drowning sensation consuming my nose and throat. I see so many struggles, ones that I know are far greater than mine, but why is it that in my eyes I look at myself in the mirror and the voices in my head play like a broken record and I can’t imagine at the time a more hellish underground than the one I’m staring at. I know how to help myself but at times in my eyes I feel like the darkness keeps me warm at night. I sometimes don’t even attempt to see a better life, because in my eyes the echoes of my own voice that’s in my head would prefer to sit and stay in self pity as if it’s some prized possession that I refuse to shake. I’ve loved, but in my eyes they were clearly all hallucinations and made up stories that sooner or later were found to be nothing but lust. I held on to the idea of persons that would bury me in emotional pain just so they felt loved. In my eyes, the tears I cried were pure pain, yet I somehow called that ‘love’. Pain that keeps you up at night and sometimes asleep for days, pain that crawls through your mind like an evil whisper that “you are not worth anything greater than this pain”, running to the bathroom to projectile spew the venom that’s creeping through your veins from the stress that has been consuming you everyday, your hairs falling out, your bones are becoming brittle and bruised, your shaking on the daily and sometimes you bleed to remind yourself you’re still here.. in my eyes that’s a life where you are not living, you’re practically a walking corpse, sleepwalking through time. Does that class as exsisiting still? Because in my eyes I feel like they are stapled shut, and I’m unwillingly blindfolded and I can’t see which way is up. The scars buried deep within my arms and legs are my bourdens that I managed to make woundes. I created illnesses for myself through situations that I didn’t walk away from, chronic depression, chronic anxiety, a stage of bulimiea.. imagine waking up 7 days later and you’re body has lost 8 kilograms and each week it’s more and more, until you’re collapsing on the floor and a doctor has to tell you that the weight you’re losing is becoming deadly serious, and in my eyes I couldn’t see one difference but maybe one or two tears less on my cheek because numbness starts to be you. Always eating, never eating starts to become a fluctuation of yours that you can’t even keep up with. I keep track of the pills flourishing through my blood stream, in my eyes that’s the only thing I have some sort of control over at times. In my eyes I haven’t met myself yet, I’ve met the devil himself but I haven’t met me. In my eyes I think that’s the one thing I’m holding on for. I want to know me without this. And in my eyes i can feel the blindfold coming off and I’m starting to see the staples removing themselves as small bursts of light are beaming through. In my eyes, that’s me coming back to life.