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jeremy maxwell Apr 2012
100 milligrams of flexeril
to relax my beating heart
until the muscle stops
flexing
beating
pumping.

100 milligrams of restoril
and maybe
finally
i can sleep.

maybe
i can finally sleep.

waking up has become such a chore
such an unpleasant experience
and if this doesn't stop it,
nothing will.

flexeril and restoril
and 45 milligrams
of methadone
because all i could score
was four and a half pills.

30 milligrams of phenagren
just to make sure
i can keep it all down.
i heard you could use
dramamine
but hey,
who wants to risk it?

i've taken my last chance.

15 milligrams of xanax
and if i can make it
for another hour or so
i won't even remember
what i've done.

this will end with a clean slate,
me on the floor
*******,
saying mother,
mother,
what the **** did i do?

if i can speak at all.

290 milligrams
to prove
this is not
a cry for help.
this is not a real scenario.  it was written for a poetry competition in which the goal was to be as controversial as possible.
Q Jul 2014
The world behind my eyes is so much prettier than real life
The world inside my head is filled to the brim promise
The world behind my eyes is brimming with a million, million dreams
The world inside my head is where impossible possibilities exist.

I will dive into my imaginary world today
Floating on Zaleplon and Flexeril pills
I will live inside my mind's creation and thrive
While my body is still.

The world beyond my skull is beauty and innocent words
The world within my brain is laughter and smiles and games
The world beyond my skull knows no pain or judgement
The world within my brain is free from tears and frowns, from shame.

I will immerse myself in my second reality today
And I will forget nihilism and existentialism.
Life will regain the meaning it held in my early childhood
And, with Death, they will pull me, and I will let them.

There is no greater curse and no greater gift than to be aware of Life.
There's nothing worse than knowing the pointless routine
And it'll send a thinker to the grave, thus I chose the world
Behind my eyes, beneath my skull, inside my dreams.
I haven't been on here in months.
I haven't written anything in months either.
I haven't even opened up a book,
and my drum set has mostly been collecting dust.
It's sad I know, but to be honest
I haven't been doing much of anything lately.

I've been in and out of court,
in and out of towns,
in and out of schools,
in and out of hospitals,
in and out of houses...
It's been one hell of a time to say the least.

I've been to the city's courthouse so often, it's almost funny.
Almost.
I recognize the security guards every time that I'm in there,
even when they switch shifts.
I know the layout from the first to the seventh floor.
I know which of their vending machines is the best to choose from
and how the elevator doesn't work the way it should.
That place is too familiar for my own good.
It's a world of officials in immaculate suits,
dishing out the ***** work in the most vicious of ways,
with small talk, fake smiles, sweaty palms and anxiety.

In the past year, I've lived in four different places
spread all across the Keystone state.
I look back on the first house I grew up in with a twisted nostalgia.
How could things have been that simple, that easy?
With one big happy family under a suburbian roof,
in a small little town that nobody's ever heard of.
The simple times.

That simplicity was shattered,
with the family broken and trying to go our separate ways.
I did love our next house for just a few reasons though.
I loved the fresh new perspective.
I looked at my town in a whole new way.
Hell, I looked at everything differently.
I felt safe and secure,
even though we were living paycheck to paycheck, day by day.
Our next-door neighbor was the sweetest woman that I've ever met.
She brought the culture of her home-country to us,
getting us together for meals,
brewing tea with sugar cubes on a silver platter.
And even though things were turning into absolute ****,
I thought that it was going to be okay.
It was nice while it lasted.

Living in the mountains was refreshing.
I was torn away from everything I had ever known and loved,
****** into a living arrangement that was not exactly ideal.
Secluded by trees, nestled at least a half hour away from civilization.
But you take what you can get when you have nowhere else to go.
It's funny how life works.
I grew to appreciate the simple things:
having a bed to sleep in,
food to eat,
a place to shower,
clothes to wear.
I finally started understanding my life as it truly was,
a big, swirling mess.
But it was okay, because I was finally going to start anew.

Wrong.
Suddenly we were back down where we used to be.
A tad bit further south, just on the edge of the Maryland line.
Once again I had a new perspective,
once again in a living situation that was not ideal.
It's been rather awkward,
being forced to live with family friends.
It was either that, or I would've been forced to live with a monster.
You take what you can get when there are no other options.
This is the life.

It's pitiful to see the state that I'm in.
One would think that I am a pill-popping drug dealer,
for all the bottles of pills that I have with me.
A little bit of Naproxen, some Carafate,
along with Pantoprazole, Methylprednisolone,
standard painkillers and Flexeril, among others.
But nothing is touching the pain,
and the doctors are running out of ideas.
If my father doesn't **** me, this stress certainly will.


Ladies and Gentlemen, I know this isn't exactly a poem...
I don't even know what to call it.
It's just something that I've thrown together for my sanity,
because I've tried everything else.
It's just a big clusterfuck of words,
because I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.
It's just what I've been up to lately.
f Jun 2019
i went to see a psychiatrist last monday in the “avenues” and it was refreshing in a way because she actually listened to me, without making me nervous, which is hard. she asked me simple questions, i told her of the ****** abuse as a child, and the toxicity of my relationship before. she asked how my quality of sleep is, and i said it’s fine but i wake up crying or once i screamed “****** ******”, and i also punched the fan blowing on my face in my sleep because i thought i was being attacked. i have panic attacks after grocery shopping and a phobia of crowds, although i’m really unsafe anywhere, anything could happen is how i feel. (my whole life has felt like i’m on the edge of a cliff) i pick at my face, and sometimes pluck out my hair. embarrassing. but better than when i was a young girl and ******.. on my.. ****** hair... ugh. wow.
anyway she said it sounds like i’m having ptsd symptoms, and that my behavior is very common in people with childhood trauma. she adjusted my meds, now i’m on the highest dose prozac, doxycycline for my face, flexeril, klonopin nightly, and trazadone. oh and birth control. anyway i called out to work one day because the night previous i had had two panic attacks, in my sleep as well. long story short my coworker (i think she’s my friend but i really don’t know to tell you the truth) asked how i was, and i told her everything i just said. she replied with “ptsd from what?”
and my thing is i’ve told her of *** abuse when I was a child, and i’ve told her about my toxic abusive relationship. so i replied with photos i’ve taken over the years of my self harm and explained again the abuse and she never replied. i see her at work and she acts chipper as always and just exactly like my friend/coworker. but the only thing she said to me about the pictures i sent her “are you feeling any better?” as she was getting in her car.
that stung a little bit.
anyway i truly am a crybaby. no sense of direction because i have no sense of urgency. “nothing really matters, anyone can see”
and yet there are days when the sun shines even though it hurts my eyes, and it’s beautiful, the flowers in our front yard are beautiful. i’m grateful for life. maybe the meds are working again, hm?
6 - 24 - 19
f Aug 2019
addicted to clon
addicted to nicotine
addicted to flexeril
addicted to you
addicted to self harm
addicted to restricting
addicted to being intoxicated
8 - 22 - 19
Stacy Mills Nov 2017
2 melitonin
2 flexeril
2 Tylenol pm
2 Benadryl
If I can't sleep now I need to be  committed
Matthew Aug 2019
Didn’t get a good night’s sleep
not hungry
minimal communication on the ride over
force a smile to check in
sit in silence
get called in; say I’m doing well
reciprocate the question
nerves, thinking of only one thing
tears suppressed, fear rings in my ears
oppressed myself, he asks how
the meds have been working.
A deep breath
a shaky exhale
“Horrible, it’s been way worse
black thoughts are back
a plan is in place:
keppra, lexapro, flexeril, and alcohol
don’t know if it would work,
hoped. Spent all last night
crying in dim light, clinging
onto the evolutionary desperation of living.
send me somewhere
isolated from life.”

— The End —