Anxiety is different for everyone.

It shifts and molds like an imposter among the ranks,

only the ranks are countless emotions 

that end up battling each other for victory within my mind.

Victory for one never lasts long.

If Anxiety is a soldier at war,

then Depression is the landmine beneath its feet-

Set to blow at any given moment.

Anxiety may win a lot,

but it will always lose against Depression.

When Depression wins I want nothing more than to curl up into a ball and bawl my eyes out-

or a hug. 

Maybe both.

Usually, only one of those happens.

The catastrophic casualties that litter my arms are the remnants of a battlefield I rarely win.

The scars left behind are the impact craters from Depression exploding,

or Anxiety being too careless.

Despite the literal war breaking out across my body,

no one can tell.

They see the smile that’s all too easy to bring to my face,

or the greetings and affirmations scattered all over the place.

But most of the time they just get ignored and sent up into space.

And maybe sometimes I just want an embrace.

So in the end I’m just a warrior that’s fallen from grace.

A warrior. 

A warrior like the Valkyries of Valhalla-

sworn to protect the heroes entering. 

But where’s my protection?

Where’s those words when I need them?

I give and I give and I give and I give-

when can I take?

Why is it when I attempt to reach out all my heart does is ache?

Does that simply make my plights fake?

Where is the knight in shining armour that’s meant to save the princess?

Why am I always left having to save myself?

My mother tells me to reach out to my family.

In response, Anxiety gains victory for a little longer than usual.

Conversation with people who never took the time to know me 

means that Anxiety is practically feasting-

and everyone else goes hungry.

Another win for Anxiety to add 

to books that seem forever infinite.

And the worst thing about it is that I’m not the only one.

There are countless others who must deal with the repercussions 

of their own mind at war.

For some it’s not as drastic,

purely some simple skirmish 

that’s over in the span of minutes-

before disappearing into the depths for an unforeseeable amount of time.

For others there’s no reprieve-

and they are cursed with the never-ending nightmare 

of countless battles both won and lost.

And to all of those who suffer from the same afflictions I do:

You are seen.

You are heard.

You are loved.

You are not any less beautiful- battle scars and all.

For those scars should not be ones carried in shame.

Those demons are awfully hard to tame.

So instead they should remain as a reminder of, “I’m still here”.

And, “I’m still alive”.

You are alive- and isn’t that a wonderful thing?