Sometimes I look at others with envy, as I observe how easy it seems for them to breathe under the pressure. They don’t succumb before my eyes; their vibrant energy is extraterrestrial, while mine is a worn out mask held together with stitches that threaten to unravel.


Mental health used to be a foreign concept to me, and to my family. But the nerd in me researched symptoms so many times that I now have advertisements asking me if I am okay.


I kept pushing myself to become ever involved, and succeed beyond all odds. However, over the past few years, I realized the importance of self-care and began writing poetry as a form of release.


The following is the first installation.




By Lydia Negussie