I feel heavy in my chest--
an anxious weight of the knowledge that it's about to be bad again;
I can feel it getting bad again

and the trigger might have been you or it could have been this impending sense of  doom I cannot seem to shake--
but it's going to be bad again

I can almost grab it--
fingers desperately trying to pull a dumbell off my lungs
my arms are too weak
and the bell is too slick
and I can't seem to grasp it quite yet but it's there;
sitting,
heavy,
holding me down while the sword of damocles is hanging above my throat--
I can see it's getting bad again

but I cannot move,
and the sun is setting quick--
the darkness almost comforting as a distraction from the cool steel of the blade taunting me--
I cannot seem to watch as the sword begins to drop

it's getting bad again,
I can feel it--
see it in the ways the world's colors tinge a subtle sepia,
hear it in the ways my favorite songs don't sound as they should,
taste it in how foods are turning repulsive to my mouth--nauseous and burning,
smell it in the smoke I use to drown out the constant ringing of alarm bells,

trust me when I say:
I'm not prepared for the worst--and well,
it's getting bad again

I've been letting these feelings of complacency linger for awhile now
avoiding the process of acknowledgement like it's an overused hobby in my freetime

and it's rare for me to act--
instead I diminish and allow myself to curl in on myself
rather than facing head-on the things I fear

I am weak like that--
weathered down by time like a stone in a creekbed until my sharp edges are smooth--
only good for skidding above the water and sinking down below--
my obtrusive nature nonexistent,
only useful to those searching for me

but I've been sitting here complacent--
letting the rushing of the currents wear me down,
and I find I am tired of it's constant freezing presence
sitting beneath the crystal waters--visible to those searching for my stone,
waiting for the helpful hand of someone brave enough to seek me out
waiting to fit perfectly in the palm of their hand

and maybe I'll find that I've found purpose again.

Not so much rare as spontaneous
a tightness of the chest
a heating of the face
a trickle from my eye
      I have never done well with criticism

but it demands my attention,
however ignored it may be
cold shoulders throw a lot of heat when aimed correctly

listening to silence can be disturbingly loud
you may call me a sensitive soul,
but it's been a while since I've felt so outcasted
    I retreat into myself

inside, I can scream and I can cry
throw a tantrum like the child you make me out to be
sometimes,
I can feel it leak

there's a dam that's been carefully crafted
years of maintenance tirelessly scheduled
--day in--day out--
but recently it's been cracking;
maintenance lacking with the feeling of safety

I think I need to patch it
because of you

Ink to paper:
a simple thing to most,
but I struggle with more than that most days
I sit in a constant battle of wills
both of which are my own
conflicting and demanding my attention
I do not feed it
still I watch it grow--
ever encompassing, abundant
I try to move, but I still sit
stuck to the fabric of my bed sheets
my flesh becoming one with the fibers until I am truly trapped
in this battle of wills,
I do my best not to become complacent as complacency always leads to depression
and while we have been much more than strong acquaintances,
neither friend nor enemy quite seem to fit

It's difficult to describe the emotions tandem with its presence--
upsetting to say the least--
but anger and fear come close

Still, I try to leave the tangle of my bed sheets,
fibers pulling at my skin,
ink willing my hand to write, my mind to steady, and my feet to move.

It was fine at first--
unnoticeable, or rather better hidden
but it became something deliberate and somewhat cold
a curling ball of something akin to shame tucked beneath my rib cage
I find I do not pity you

as days turned to weeks turned to months of petty not-words
passive aggressive shoulder keeping me at a distance
friendship unneeded and clearly not wanted

I owe to you the tenseness of my shoulders
the quieting of my voice,
the diminishment of my presence

and I thought; or more so rather hoped, that my talking to you would have changed things for the better
instead, I find us back where we started--strangers with no intent of being more than

I work with you when scheduled,
but your name brings a foul taste to my mouth--
it hurts to know I am the odd one out
square one
like a child alone again on the playground

I will sit on the swings
awaiting the push

A part of me feels tilted on an axis
a mobius strips, no end, no beginning,
but twisted all the while
and I try to straighten it--
try to gain some semblance of normalcy
but these feelings come in waves,
abruptly crashing to shore;
always slow to pull back

there's a time and a place for changes,
but I am never prepared for mine--
routine interrupted by chemicals I try desperately to tame

abrupt changes in motion
I drag myself to skid
the ground is hard
it's unwelcoming--cold and damp,
gravel pressing into my back

I feel stupid
humiliated
embarrassed rather than chagrined
and I want to cry like a child who has lost their favorite toy
I am a downfall unto myself

but I cannot scream
and I cannot cry
because doing so would be admitting defeat--
even if it would give me some relief

I feel like I'm in a constant fight to prove myself
where previously I would have been given grace
I find I am given none,
even with it being my name

Sometimes I don't feel like I'm anyone's anything except maybe their problem
and I would give anything to gain the amount of love I give for others
My first steps were on eggshells, and I've been tiptoeing ever since
afraid of breaking the perfectly laid out path that was crafted of my own volition
I attempt to stomp on occasion,
but am met with glares in response to the sound

I want to be needed
but more than that I want to be wanted
and it's difficult for me to accept that
someone could want me in return

I've found people before who seem secure
yet every time the safety breaks and the steady smooth ride turns turbulent into a crash

I feel secure with you for now
our communication is clear and valued
but I can't help wondering how long this security could last
I doubt myself more often than not
I'm still waiting for the fall

I know there is a piece of my soul left somewhere in the discarded text messages on your phone
I know there is a trashed email from me in your inbox from years ago
and it's weird to think that the last time we spoke I was grieving something fierce
it's years later and I still grieve you

I still think about you often
worry over the ache you have instilled into me
catch myself going to say your name and letting the sounds of it get stuck in the back of my throat

I swallow

you were the person I thought I'd spend my life with
grow into the little old ladies who rock in their chairs on the porch
now I think back on those assumptions with a bitter taste in my mouth

I hear your name and panic
and I don't think it should be that way
I shouldn't fear every time something reminds me of you
but I think about the time we spent together with fondness and immense pain
you have given me nothing more than sour memories and trauma that walks beside me day after day

I hope you are doing well
I hope you are a better person than you were to me
I hope you never hurt someone as deeply as you hurt my heart
and I hope to never hear from you again

I don't think I could take it.

agitating and pitiful
polarizing--
bittersweet
I see the people I once knew very well become strangers
enjoy each other's time with care and honesty
a transparency I never felt I could be with them
Instead, the time is tinted in soft memories with the ghost of a past self who was timid in her own clothes
I watch as you enjoy and flourish
wings spread
already airborne
while my wax has melted, dried into a too thick clump
heavy with no clear goal in sight

I'm happy that you're doing well
that you are still friends
that you are thriving in the world you have made for yourself
but I watch
and I wither
and I weep in the garden of my own creation:
hollow and musk

to you it may look like I am merely surviving
and that may be true in some way
but I've found truer friends than you ever were to me
who don't judge
and continue to choose me again every day

it still hurts my heart to see you interacting
laughing with big smiles and jokes on your tongues
remembering a time where I could have been with you through it all
that year I left and was forgotten about still burns like incense
I've never been good at being someone people want to continue to be with
I usually push others away intended or not
but I'll still like your posts on the internet
and I'll comment on the pictures of you standing there at the wedding I never even saw an invitation for
and it feels funny for me to think I thought
one day I'd be standing there beside you all

I wrote my thoughts on yellow paper:
blue lines,
red margin,
I found relief in the feel of the smoothness against the side of my hand--
and I was content with life for awhile

but I realized that that life was false,
some abomination of the real world--
a place of kindness where there was evil,
a utopia where there was none

and my thoughts I think have become juvenile with age--
which is to say I feel childish in my emotions:
unable to feel the things that are important
instead of those problems which are just surface level

my anxiety is a demon clawing at my shoulder,
it holds and it holds and it holds--
it is stuck into me with sharp teeth and talons,
and it reminds me everytime I move my arm that it is there--
always watching,
always whispering
gurgled words I have long since known how to fear

and it's difficult to say why I feel this way,
maybe I was cursed ,
maybe I was just born unlucky,
or maybe it's been my fault all along
letting pathetic reasoning take place

I wish I could go back to that paper--
that yellow glare of comfort,
the easiness of feeling something controlled for once
but instead I speak about petty nothingness every two weeks--
too enamored with the idea of the now,
that I am unready and unwilling to open up the past

it always ends like this :
blank pages glaring,
forced steady breathing,
with the knowledge that avoidance is the same thing as accepting

I’m scared
And I hate to say that about myself
Because I have lived in a sense of false security for so long
Reliant on others because I can’t be reliant on myself
And I’ve developed this system of ignore, persist, and repeat
And I think its slowly draining me

There are moments when I can forget that my life is the way that it is
Self-medicating to prevent the anxiety from creeping up into my throat
Turning off the big light to blind myself from all the ugly pieces of me that I am ashamed of seeing
It is my instinct to believe that something is wrong with me

And I’ve never been good at being alone
Though I crave it all the same
When I am alone I can breathe in the darkness
Veiled by the idea that running away will one day have to stop

But I still find my legs striving towards to finish line
Try as I might take my time to get there
The idea of just completing the race urging myself forward
A success where I have never had any before

I am trying
And I am healing
And I know that it is not linear
I know I have many more obstacles ahead of me
But I think the want may finally outweigh the hatred and shame

she told me setting boundaries is being kind to myself
and I've never really been good at that
being kind that is
I will cower and fade to the detriment of myself  before I will admit that this is decidedly unhealthy

but I'm trying to do better
be better I mean
as a person I call myself cruel to be kind
as I know my mind better than anyone else's
and I know that it is condescending at best

but she tells me to be gentle
treat myself with patience and grace
but I have never liked my name

I don't know if fear exists in the absence of courage or it is accompanies it with a hand on its back
leading it into the forest among all the beasts that lurk there

I don't know if forgiveness should be this contractual obligation that it is in my mind
a softness I rarely allow myself to feel
and while you cannot **** me in a way that matters
I will still feel the blade forcing itself further
the sharpness a stinging not unlike lightening
a gripping of my heart in a too tight hand

she tells me to breathe
a laboring shaky breath that allows air into my lungs once again
the hollow void of the knife leaving behind a scar I cannot be rid of
a reminder of weakness in the face of a wicked beast

she tells me to be kind
to forgive myself for something I shouldn't have to forgive
and well,
I'm not very good at that part

I watch as they have petty arguments
make up in a day
and cuddle in the other room

and I want that trivial bickering
the kind that ends in laughter and soft kisses on the forehead

I see the way they care for each other
in playful glances and the small gestures of bringing the other a drink just cause
the pausing of a game to check in on the other
the cooking from one and the washing of the dishes from the other and I realize I want that

I want to be able to wake in the arms of another
feel supported and loved
cherished in a way I haven't been before
I desire the mundane
the splitting of chores
errands run in tandem

I crave the affection that can only come from another who loves and accepts me for me
someone who supports my dreams
and gets along with my friends and family

I want to share my space with someone who feels like they don't take up much of it
yet everywhere I look there'll be a reminder of them in my eyes
and I think of the song being alive and I think I understand

I write because I cannot speak
cannot say out loud what I try to convince myself isn't true
I write and I bleed
thoughts and emotions
wet and raw and /there/
warmth slips down my face in a shaky line
I won't wipe
won't acknowledge is there
I'll look you in the eyes
splayed open
/bleeding/
     /real/
and avoid thinking about how the last time I showed these gorey parts of myself to someone else they left
/they left/
and they had /promised/
does it scare you too?
To know of the power you hold over me?
I try and I try and I try
And I still come out not knowing better
Hindsight saying I should have listened to my instinct
But I fight against it every time
I make the same mistakes again and again
Because I still have hope
Does that make me foolish?

The only steady thing in this world is the fire in yourself--
A burning, constanly flickering flame refusing against all odds to die out
You are here
You are burning

A dusty grey gritty feeling has always been in my lungs from choking back words and impulse I'd be admonished for breathing

It took years of practice to craft the smog into a milky then translucent expected response: appropriate ---Instead of one lacking tact

But with you
I falter

You say you care about me
but it's not in the way I want you to
I want to grow old and share our lives
I want to wake up with coffee on the porch and a cat in our respective laps
I want to tell you about my day in a more than a friend kind of way

I care about you
but more than you do about me
and I'm still learning to accept that
a slow realization with heartache that we will never be what I want

and it's a shock to my system to acknowledge the fact that someone has felt this way for me before
I could not reciprocate then
and you will not reciprocate now

and it seems silly to think about
7 years ago I fell in love and I haven't fallen out since

I'm fearful for the day I lose all sense of self
and it's not like my worth is equated in belongings
but I'm losing mine now and that's something to grieve
realistically
I know
they are still there
just tucked away for a later date
but for now I lose the enrichment in my enclosure
and can't help but feel a void opening in this cavity I call a chest

I think I've been too much again
too obtrusive in ways that I don't mean to be
I'm codependent and that's not healthy
but I felt that I could be with you and now I'm not so sure

but you said you needed space
and I understand needing to be alone
but I can't help this feeling that I've done something wrong to push you away

I'm a lot and I know that
it's hard to admit it to myself
you kept me steady and routine
I'm not quite sure how to deal without
right now of all times

I'm vexatious
and burdensome
difficult
and loud
annoying like a fly buzzing in your ear;
constant and disruptive

and I talk about myself way too much
and I share little things about my day
and I think they've added up to being too much

and others tell me I'm not
but it feels like they're just placating
because I'm never too much with them  and I know I am with you

this is why I don't let people in
because every time I do they eventually pull away
unable to keep up with everything I am
so I pull back instead
hesitant to jump in
the water is always a shock to my system
I started wading instead
but by the time I'm fully swimming
you've gotten out to tan

I know I am too much
colorful and loud
unapologetic until I am crying again alone
I care about you in a way I know you don't care the same

so instead I'll be quiet
accommodating and considerate
your own feelings placed above my own
I'll get out of the water
drops evaporating from my skin
until there is nothing left but air and a stranger
where there once was a friend

I'm guarded,
but these walls are glass:
thick like the acrylic in aquariums.
I can see through,
bang on the walls until my hands are red,
shout, but no sound ever leaves this fortress

instead I watch
as the people stare in at me;
hundreds of eyes watching me
causing my skin to crawl like insects are living beneath it

they precieve me but do not know me---
gawk and laugh and smudge the glass;
my vision to the outside becomes jaded--
blurry audience to my sideshow act---
there's something to be said about just exsisiting

I'm there with pretty patterns,
colors that scream dangerous to the natural world;
there is total lack of monochrome
bar the numerous stickers on my torso and limbs

and they stare at me appalled
while their children giggle and  point with wonder in their eyes
demanding to know what is that creature?
why it's so funny,
why it's so loud and bright and struggling to hide
when it's obviously something a wonder to be seen

they shush their children then--
saying don't look and not to point
while they raise their eyebrows in judgement and gossip to their friends later about what they saw that day
I have become a spectacle and in a way I did it to myself
trapped in the necessity of uniformity so long I started to ooze out of my clothes like sludge

it dripped into new shoes and formed someone new
I'm still learning to accept her vision in the glass when I look in the mirror
trying to find the awe of a child's eyes through the ones of an adult

As a child I was demure
obedient
restricted
uniformed schools and stuffy churches
expectations on how a person should be and act ingrained into my life from conception

I watched as others blossomed
allowed to grow in the faith and in their family
expectations a guide book they were more than eager to follow
I sat in the corner quiet and meager and scared of taking up too much space
there was a slot my peg was supposed to fit into
and maybe I did, but not in the way that it mattered

I saw the way my sisters fought with my mother
harsh words and violent tantrums
I felt the tension in the air and I never wanted to cause that

to this day I'd say I'm the same way
a peacekeeper and people pleaser
doing what I think I should do for others
as it changes how others see myself

I am kind
and I am gentle
and I am punctual
and I am tactful
but I am selfish
and I want
and I want
and I want

and there's a part of me that is scared to flourish
afraid that if I let myself be myself then I will hurt those around me I have spent so long trying to protect
I still try to fit into a mold that I have repeatedly cracked,
and when I look in the mirror I understand that everything I am built this figure

striking outfits and sharp bold black images marring my body
I am loud and unapologetic in the comfort of my own home
I am her when I am surrounded by my friends
but I know the truth and am skilled at wearing many faces
I still change the mask with every phone call to my mother
with every smile I flash at work
with every doctor's visit and strangers on the street

I'm still demure
and obedient
restricted and uniform
The image I'm projecting a direct reflection of my fears
I'm still the same child who was scared of rocking the boat
and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that

I'm trying to put these feelings into words but I don't know the vocabulary
I know I am uncomfortable
I feel reprimanded---
chagrined in a way that is thoughtful but wary of change

these steps seem simple to you
but I am trying and they're steeper than I'm used to
I'm scared that if I reach the top
then I will fall back to the bottom even harder than before

and the climb becomes more difficult each time
and the summit is never as beautiful as I was told
so I sit at the bottom of the stairwell and watch as others around me sprint up the steps
They're waiting for me again dancing at the top to a rhythm I've never heard and will forever struggle to learn

Healing takes time

it's a change I knew was coming
a slow reality setting in that want and desire are overthrown by happenstance
I'm facing a loss and for that I grieve
there was denial on my lips for the longest time
months of agonizing over weather or not it was all in my head even with the physical evidence in my hands
anger in the unfairness of it all, my youth clinging to thinning strands I once struggled to control
I tried to bargain with myself--a last ditch effort of treatments that promised a solution until reality shook me by the shoulders once again
at least I have this
I tell myself
but I know what's coming next, and I fear for that moment when depression rears it's head at me again,
grabbing me by the throat and forcing me to face myself in the mirror until I do not recognize the face looking back
there will be  acceptance one day
I will be comfortable again in my own skin
but for now I grieve a loss that is no body else's but my own

there will be no grave to visit

I think we were always destined to be this way
a kindred spirit who haunts my dreams
I compare everyone to you

call me again when you have your life figured out
I promise I'll probably still be waiting
and I'm not sure that's healthy

but if in years down the line I am content with another, and you asked me for a chance
then I'd have to at least think about it

There was a time I was drowning--
screaming--
air filled bubbles rising to the surface
until the darkness took over;
after awhile I found a cave,
an underwater haven where I could breathe
alone:
hidden

I managed some days to float--
aimlessly--
there in the dark;
it was cold,
and lonely;
the saltwater mixed with the tears
I didn't know I was crying;
I managed to dredge back to the cave

I was always waiting for something--
change,
light,
a hand,
but there was nothing but more darkness as far as I could see:
no way out,
the water too deep

I decided one day to take a chance--
to swim--
further than I ever had before;
up to the surface I was sure was there,
and if I drowned in the process, well
--I had already been drowning--

I was soon running out of air--
my chest burning--
I thought that:
surely this was the end

Then, a hand grabbed mine

a sudden pull

I was ****** to the surface


I saw the light for the first time in years,
and I breathed clean air into my lungs;
I stood on stable land;
I learned to walk again without the flow of water pushing against my chest

This was new--unfamiliar--
fear mixed with anticipation:
the promise that I could breathe easy again,
walk among the light,
float without sinking

It's still new--
still frightening--
but I am trying,
and I am healing,
the pruning of my fingers slowly dying down--
the salt in my chest no longer as coarse--
the darkness not nearly as daunting

I took a shower today
a ritual I was taught as a child--
one I had abandoned long ago;
showers are cleansing and comforting
I used to not think that I deserved that
but I needed a shower today and I took one
I know it may not seem like much to you
but I am proud of myself

I hold resentment towards you deep in my veins
every mention of you stirs something thick and dark--
I try to add water to thin it
the tears are never enough to smooth the churning
I feel the shame I don't believe you feel
this has become my normal
I keep trying to feel other things;
but resentment becomes anger and hurt rather than healing and forgiveness--
Still I stir

We have choices every day
I choose now to be better
try harder
every day I am a different person
and that used to scare me
the first step is discipline
it creates stability
here--I am fighting
my demons that only I can see
every second
every minute
every hour
I am fighting now

--when I look back I hope I like what I see

I breathed and inhaled stardust
and I wonder---
how I can miss someone I've never met.

I met you without meeting you
I loved you without knowing you
and I will die without truly ever hearing you-

the lack of you in my life is just as substantial as your place in it

Today and group we talked about super powers
I've always talked about wanting to freeze time but I've never really asked myself why
I think I'm scared of the world moving on without me
that I'm running out of time to make an impact
that I'll be forgotten
I have issues with abandonment
I feel alone

If I could stop time I'd be able to travel,
see the world without the craziness or commotion of everyday life
I think I just want a break
here I was given a break,
someone else to take care of me for a while this place is like stopping time
only the world is going on without me
I don't know if I'm ready to go back

There's a moment every day I remember
that I'm here
phone calls and probing questions
I'm forced to face the reality of my situation it's therapeutic knowing
--the process is progress--
I may not see it yet,
but slow happenings are still happening

  --- I'll get there soon

I'm on my third group of patients
now the welcoming committee to a place I was once a stranger
I know the walls and schedules,
which nurses work at night,
where the Tech met her husband,
and the due dates for the pregnant staff
I'm on my third group of patients
each one leaving bittersweet
these people know me without judgment
I can talk without fear
and with each discharge--
I feel like I'm losing a piece of myself
I'm on my third group of patients
I'm having to learn to let go
this part is never easy

The trepidation I've felt has begun to settle somewhere other than my chest
I've been known to be reluctant with change, especially with myself
this change is good but unfamiliar
I can't decipher the medium --that steady baseline people are supposed to have with their emotions
so they are keeping me for observation
like we do with a sick fish at work
my sick is in my mind
it's harder to diagnose--
unseen and masked--
hidden and shameful;
here, I've begun to forgive myself

I know staying here much longer can affect my progress
but Mania feels the same as getting better and while I'm ready for better,
I'm scared of good
of the fix
that the stitches I've placed will start tearing out again

They spoke to me today about the possibility of discharge
I don't want to leave
here I feel steady
unjudged
cared for and loved
here, I'm away from the stresses of the outside world
I don't want to go back
the biggest stresses I have here are what coloring page I'm going to do;
what number I can't figure out in my Sudoku, if there's music or animal therapy today outside---
I'm forced to be an adult  
I've been an adult my entire life
I've never gotten to be a child

They're changing my meds
so I'll be here for a while
a decade or so of avoiding help and treatment has left me at a personal best for my worst
but I feel okay
I can't tell if I manic or stable
finally not in the pit of depression
it's been so long I don't know what okay feels like anymore

--I'm trying not to get excited

I'm rocking, I'm rocking, I'm rocking
back-and-forth
and my senses are being overwhelmed
and my hands won't stop shaking
and my heart is beating loud and fast
my skin is crawling
back
forth
back
forth
I try to hum
to cancel out the quiet ringing
back
forth
my hair is touching me
my clothes suddenly feel like walls closing in back
forth
back
forth
the gentle constant motion steady
my breathing tries to mimic it
I'm rocking, I'm rocking, I'm rocking
back-and-forth

Playing this game of life with the cards I've been dealt feels like an impossible task--
but I can't draw new ones
I'm forced to play with what I've been given: broken pieces, a soggy misshapen board, weighted die
I'm playing with a losing hand
the game stacked against me

--- the house always wins

There are letters behind my name
not ones earned with prestige and degrees but ones that follow nonetheless
MDD, GAD, BPDII, ADHD, OCD, hEDS
defining traits of my mental
and while they label they don't add any value to my life
in fact they do the opposite
they hinder every moment
every thought
every action
every task it takes a village

---I hate asking for help

Like a child,
I play pretend
I run and hide from the monsters
unlike a child
I have no one to check under the bed
in the closet
behind the door
I live alone
and find comfort in that
but I cannot be my own caregiver
the difficulties in my wants are oxymoronic what I want and what I need are playing tennis
the ball constantly bouncing back-and-forth face and conquer
or fear and cower
the match has yet to end

-- they are undefeated in their own fields

We saw therapy dogs today and it reminded me of the future I want
of animals
and kindness
and an open home on some land
with a koi pond
and gentle sounds of teenagers that aren't mine down the hall
from a library stacked with books
and a cold, long-forgotten tea on the table
I want a future I likely won't see for many reasons
the biggest obstacle is me

The groups seems to bring out emotions I'm not fond of facing alone
and these people make me feel safer than my own family
but although the depression is lessening,
its cousin anxiety has settled in somewhere deep in my gut
sending shockwaves to my fingertips
I fidget
I disassociate
I crave desertion
but I've been running
and I've been hiding from the skeletons seeping their way out my closet
bony metatarsals and phalanges fiddiling with the lock
it will rust soon enough
I don't know if I'm ready for the break

I've known these people less than 48 hours and already the knowledge they leave on monday is causing ants to stamp their feet into my chest
I should be happy that they are leaving
that they've progressed enough to not need constant supervision
but instead I am anxious
already fearing the change
I'll still be here
and though they owe me nothing
I feel abandoned, betrayed

These people know more about me than my parents
these people know more about me than my closest friends
I have a hard time opening up to people
I have difficulty trusting
seeing them go feels like heartbreak
I will be alone again

--while I love to be alone, I'm not very fond of being lonely

I took a shower tonight
borrowed hospital gowns replaced mine
so I can wear clean clothes again
showers normally feel like catharsis
tonight it felt like defeat
anxiety swelled in my chest as I forced myself to take calculated breaths
slow
in
out
in
out
breathe. repeat.
the shower I was in had a chair
and that made it easier to stomach the idea of "clean"
I don't know why I felt that way
it shouldn't be this way

We went outside today
a concrete courtyard with partial sun
and like dogs we lined up
excited and eager to go outside and play frisbee
to draw with chalk
for the privilege to sit in unfiltered air

This place is like kindergarten
I'm drawing and coloring
with music class sprinkled in
our P.E. morning stretches
we lineup to walk to the dining hall

I think I needed this--
this childish retreat--
a place to have someone else take care of me for a change
with my peers, and in downtime,
I forget why I'm here
laughing, talking, able to speak without fear of judgment
we all walk in hand with our demons here and then I'm faced with doctors
and I'm forced to remember
forced to feel
I don't like that part

It's been weeks since I've showered
the shower is clean here
ready for use
but bathing feels like a sign of progress and I'm not there yet
the shower here is unfamiliar
and cold
green plaster floors and walls match the green of the sheets I spend my nights on nothing like the cool gray of my shower curtain at home
no familiar scents for comfort
nothing to hang a towel on
they are making me shower here--
well highly encourage it --
but I haven't showered in almost a month and now my anxiety is making what should be a simple task difficult
I am once again having to face my own mind and its reluctance to let me (breathe, live, function) exist.