Horrible Person

A poem about a person suffering with depression and anxiety

I’m the horrible person for going crazy at night. I’m the horrible person for staying up all night. I’m the horrible person for making my mom cry. I feel stuck, enclosed, surrounded. My thoughts are slowly drowning me. I’m tired of feeling like this. Some days I feel sad while other days I feel anger. Some days I just don’t even feel anything. I’m tired of taking medications that just hide my symptoms but don’t get rid of them. Why should my feelings be hidden from the world? Why is suicide unacceptable? People have a right to have a say in their lives. I’m just horrible aren’t I? That’s all I am. The horrible person. Everyone else will suffer when I die but have you ever thought about how much the dead person suffered to have to commit suicide? I’m slowly drowning in 5 foot 4 inches of myself. I might not die today or tomorrow but oh how I wish I would be dead already. I’m the horrible person but I can't help it. Or can I?