Mental Health Trilogy: Part Two - Anxiety

This poem is almost self explanatory. But I'm going to beat this dead horse anyway. I live with anxiety. Lots of it. Most people don't know that. That said, I'm discovering myself through it. What my triggers are and what ways to cope when I don't see it coming. This was one of my coping mechanisms.

Everyday Anxious

"How are you?"
"I'm good. You?"
"Good."
That's how we all want it to go.
So we can move through a day without issue.
Or quote unquote, DRAMA.
Without acknowledging the stress we all know is there.
At some point, that elephant might get the hint and just go away.
Right?
No one wants a real answer to those questions.
No one.
No one wants me to answer the, "how are you?" with what's really up.
"Hi, how are you?"
"Ah, you know? I'm exhausted. I've been working a lot. Drinking more. Sleeping like shit. And when I do finally sleep I'm shaken awake by a fucked up dream or anxiety. Or both. And when I'm awake for the day, I can't stop moving. When I do stop moving, I shake. A lot. With or without caffeine. On the brink of tears at minimum. Though most likely there's an anxiety attack right around the corner. So yeah, I'm good."
That answer will always get one of a few responses.
Most often a "there there" or a "chin up buddy!"
Or worse, the other person turns it into a bad day pissing contest.
No matter what.
All dismissive.
All denial.
All blowing past the idea that if I, or anyone, actually answered like that.
With the truth of how I really feel in my day to day.
It would be an obvious need to legitimately cry for help.
That I'm struggling to even just. Get. By.
So it comes back to this:
"Hi! How are you!?"
"I'm fine! Thanks for asking!"

Mental Health Trilogy: Part One - Alcohol

This poem came from a darker place than many of my poems do. It needed to. I like the biting sarcasm in this. I like that I let myself explore this thought. And I like how this still feels like poetry. This wasn't intended to be part of anything at all. It was going to stand alone as a down and bitter moment. As it turns out, I've got more.

How We Get Along

I'm not sleeping right.
I'm not eating right.
I'm drinking.
No, I'm not missing a word.
That was intentional.
As intentional as every sip of every drink that has crossed my lips.
Do I have demons? I do.
I drink my demons and 99% of the time I enjoy every, single, fucking drop.
All of them. In bottles, cans, glasses and by the occasional shot.
All of them.
Do I want to stop?
I have a few jokes lined up for why I don't.
And there's a truth in every joke.
So that's what's up.
Thanks for asking.
Me and my demons are getting along just fine.