When I was 12

When I was 12 I was a sad sad child.

When I was 12 I thought I wanted to become a poet, so I wrote and wrote and wrote until there was no more words to write.

I emptied the tank.

I'm soon 25 and the tank is still empty.

When I was 12 I once wrote "My ribcage is too small for my lungs. I can feel my bones tighten as I gasp for air".

I'm soon 25 and I still feel like that sometimes. Isn't funny how that works? The anxiety never seem to end.

Whenever I talk to friends about my mental health I always downplay it, after all I only experienced trauma with a Little T.

I take no meds and I see no therapist. The therapists I have seen tell me I'm fine, I just need to come in contact with my inner emotions. I don't find that helpful and end up not coming back.

So now I'm almost 25 and still a sad sad child, who sometimes get problems to breath for no other reasen but a chest that is 1 size to small.

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