Windswept hair; Flushed cheeks

You ever cry so much you begin doubting your mental health;

You ever,
Question how often you should be upset,
With matted hair and sweaty palms,
Given the pressure that you're in:

Are you the only one,
And is it normal- are you still- alright, are you genuinely pushing too hard-
Should you slow down, because this can't be good.

I honestly feel like sleep has become a serious issue,
Because I never used to be able to function on so little, and for so prolonged a time.
What's more, all-nighters used to be by choice
And now it's only a symptom of something being rather wrong about the way I'm living-

I legitimately can't find a way to rest because I just feel so
Terrible,

And I've been weeping over things that make me have rather extreme thoughts-
I've been refusing to tell anyone about this,
And I push people away in the sense that I don't confide, and I don't open up,
And the slightest sign of disinterest I take to offence;
The slightest form of disregard is a reason to keep my heart locked deeper;
And the slightest shout at me
Amplified, recorded, and used as a means of building a border.

I choose not to talk to people because I feel like they don't care enough-


Oh god,
This is worse than puberty.


(Alright now
let's not go there, but you get my point.)



.
I'm pretty sure that this is just a passing thing though.
Come December,
When everything is over,

I'll finally be freed from these swords and poison
And I'll finally stop injecting toxins into my bloodstream
From my very own mind,
I'll stop convincing myself that I'm a failure,
That I really dislike myself for how deep I can fall sometimes,

And I'll finally go back to my somewhat, on-selective-days cheery self.
(Perhaps I'm not that better off after all)


For now,
Please,
Allow me sleep-

I haven't had my eyes not burn upon closing them
Since a long, long time ago