The Anxious Book Worm

Some days I wake up ready to fight,
Other days my brain says,
“Absolutely not, let’s panic instead.”

My anxiety arrives before I’ve had my tea,
Like an overenthusiastic visitor
Who somehow still has a key.

My thoughts run marathons at half past three,
Inventing disasters,
Most of which never come to be.

One minute I’m fine,
The next I’m convinced
A slightly delayed text
Means society has collapsed.

I’ve Googled symptoms,
I’ve checked my pulse,
I’ve diagnosed myself with seventeen things
Before breakfast.

But here’s the funny thing

I still get up.
I still put my socks on,
Even when life’s biggest challenge
Is finding matching ones.

I still make plans,
Still laugh with friends,
Still buy things online
That promise to fix me in three easy payments.

Because mental health isn’t always dramatic.
Sometimes it’s just carrying on
While your brain runs around
Like a caffeinated squirrel.

It’s learning that bad days visit,
But they don’t move in.
It’s crying at adverts,
Then laughing five minutes later.

It’s accepting that healing
Isn’t a straight line
It’s more like following directions
Given by someone who has never seen a map.

So here’s to the worriers,
The overthinkers,
The “I’m fine” professionals.

We’re a little bit fragile,
A little bit tired,
Occasionally held together
By caffeine and stubbornness.

But we’re still here.

And sometimes,
On the days when simply getting through
Feels like climbing a mountain,

We remember, we are more than enough.