Your POV

I an Y/n Nelson. I am 16 years old. My mom was a teen when she had me. Now that she is in little mix she has little to no time with me. The girls kinda know about me. My mom is home but she is with the girls.

Today at my school people are reading poems. But only 5 people are reading and I am one of them. I did not tell my mom case she never comes. I try talking to my mom about my anxiety but she does not understand. It is heard for me you know.

I when to school. I was back stage waiting for my turn. I am the last one up. "Up next is Y/n Nelson with Explaining my Anxiety to my mother." My teacher said. I walked on stage. I looked into the crowd. I seen my  mom and her friends where there.

"Explaining My Depression to My Mother: A Conversation." I said. I sighed.

"Mom, my depression is a shape shifter. One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear, the next, it’s the bear." I said.

"On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone. I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.” Mom says, “Try lighting candles.” When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame, sparks of a memory younger than noon." I said.

"I am standing beside her open casket. It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die. Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark." I said.

"Perhaps, that’s part of the problem. Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.” I can’t." I said.

'Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head. Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?” Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party." I said. I felt like crying.

"Mom, I am the party.
Only I am a party I don’t want to be at. Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?” Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go. I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go." I said.

"It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom.
You see, Mom, each night insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light." I said. A tear when doesn't my face.

"Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company. Mom says, “Try counting sheep.” But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake; So I go for walks; but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists." I said.

"They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness I cannot baptize myself in.
Mom says, “Happy is a decision.”
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg." I said. My heart hurting.

"My happy is a high fever that will break. Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying? No! I am afraid of living!" I said.

"Mom, I am lonely. I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely —" I said. Remembering my dad living when I was 7 years old.

"The lonely into busy; So when I tell you, “I’ve been super busy lately,” I mean I’ve been falling asleep watching Sports Center on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed." I said. People could hear the pain in my voice.

"But my depression always drags me back to my bed.Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city, My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves." People where crying.

"The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat,
But I am a careless tourist here. I will never truly know everywhere I have been. Mom still doesn’t understand.
Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?" I said. I walked off stage.