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(This one stems from a time when I had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I had a job that was soul-crushing and amped up my anxiety issues to the point where I would cry in the car. Glad I’m not there anymore.)
I feel a weight
That presses on my chest
And locks my limbs in place
Unable to kill the alarm
That blares above my head
It is the morning struggle
That proves I am not dead
Though my will is weak
I continue to breathe air
And to live a life of pain
I battle to move on
Twitching weeping muscles
With a stagnant brain
Getting only spasms
Along my shaky spine
Eventually I move a leg
My foot dangling
Inches above the floor
It touches down
And locks itself in place
The alarm has gone too long
It’s droning now a whine
I use it to drag me up
With both feet on the floor
Forced to live this day
When did this begin?
These mornings of near death
Forcing me to tears
That have no solid cause
Beyond the stress I hold




Glad you escaped that job and could express how you felt in this poem.
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Thanks.
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Anxiety is an exhausting joy-sucker. Hope you’re in a better place now.
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I’m trying.
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Not a good place to be.
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Nope. Keep finding myself there too.
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