What am I between these driving
delusions of all my anxieties, aside?
When every moment is a revolt against
suicide and my steadying decline
and my internal monologue dissolved
into reminding myself why.
Who am I but ceaselessly unsure
of the lens of my own myopic, miserable mind?
Between the shadows stirring
in the corners of these drying eyes
and the alarming cry for predators nearby,
these countless confines multiplying wildly.
How often I find I am fighting my brain every second, all the time
my own excessive efforts led awry
as my uncertainties undermine.
But now all I know is I am finally
freeing myself from being so spine numbingly paralyzed
now that I've realized I lie
underneath somewhere within
the way of still waking up
from this frozen comatose demise.
Mental illness isn’t always the sort of thing where you can suddenly just ‘get better’, it takes working on getting better every day in different ways, some days being worse than others, but ultimately working against all odds one day at a time (or it will never get better).
Though I can say it definitely has gotten better in the few years since I wrote this. Can’t mistake slow progress for no progress