Aiden Owen


A poem written by reporter, Allison Muncy

All I care about is helping you even though I’m breaking. (I hope you’re okay)

Even if I’m in tears, I’ll still help you first before I help myself.

You say goodnight. (You probably didn’t even go to sleep. I bet your still awake.)

But my anxiety lingers and I can’t sleep. How can I?

At least you feel better. (At least you said you did. I tried for so long to make you feel better. Did I help you at all?)

It doesn’t matter if I’m okay. (I’m crying. My eyes are puffy and red and this darkness surrounds me. My hands are shaking. I tell myself “this could be worse”)

Your happiness is much more important to me than my own.


I suffered silently.

I suffered in a way where you didn’t notice.

I texted you, having a full blown panic attack and you had no idea.

I used words and phrases I usually would have if I were happy to make you believe that I was okay.

I used a happy tone to convince you I was good.

And it worked.

I was falling apart.

But I would do anything to make you believe that I am okay.


In your life, do you ever feel like crying but all of the water in your eyes has dried up and this weight in your chest is holding you back?

And this dark, weighing, heavy, black feeling sticks in your chest and you can’t pull it out?

It keeps me up at night.


I text you later that night “I’ll be fine.”

I don’t mean that in a “I won’t be tired tomorrow. Don’t worry if I don’t sleep,” kind of way.

I mean that in a “This dark feeling will pass, hopefully.”

I mean it’s 10 pm on a school night and you ask if I will be okay.

I know I won’t.

This dark, endless pit is stuck inside of me and is staying for a while.

I have no way of reaching inside and pulling it out.

I know it’s late, I won’t get much sleep, but I know I won’t be tired tomorrow.

And I know that no matter how much the sun shines and laughter fills my lungs, this thing inside of me won’t leave.

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