Here I am
Carefully teetering on the line of moving forward
Of life, of recovery
I’m scared to death, and they tell me I have to be kind
To not pressure myself, to take it easy
And I told them, I thought I already was
But they argue that it takes a lot of work
To hate yourself
And the way I do it is so masterful, finely tuned
So it’s foolproof and it’s kept me here
I guess I have to believe them
They tell me that my inner psyche
Will always drive me towards wellness, whatever that means
But my system got broken
And I have to let it restart

I’ve been working hard, y’know
I tell people my new script if ever they cautiously ask
A hundred times this year I’ve heard myself say
‘I’m not better, but I feel more in control’
I guess it’s true, though it may not always seem that way
I still can’t really breathe or think clearly
Still don’t know how my parents love me
And every time the seasons change, god I feel ill
I feel a real sense of regret and shock that wait.
I’m not supposed to be here.
They can’t help me trust that I am, just yet
Still can’t cross the road or take my meds
And not wish and wish right there and then that I was ballsy enough.
But I’m not, and I can only assume
That’s my inner psyche working.

God, what a tiring journey
Still riding the waves against my will
I cycle rapidly through the tunnel that has the most beautiful poetry and music and art
Displayed on the walls,
And the one that’s bare but for one sign that informs me all of that is superficial, fleeting
I think about both arguments
Tell myself there is so much music I haven’t discovered
Then interrupt my own internal monologue
To say none of it will matter when I’m dead
So where do I go from there?

I sit in the sun and try to get what others get from it
Add to my bucket list
Try a new food
Write, sing, tell a joke
But when the night draws in the normality of my instability
Comes barging in
And I lie awake trying to make sense of it all.

I find it unnerving how angry I am to see sunrise
How uncomfortable it feels to live to see another day
It’s jarring, so maybe that’s a good thing?
The two sides of my psyche wrestle furiously at night,
So I cannot rest, sleep on it
The good and the bad, angel and devil, mentally well and unwell,
When good and bad duel at dawn the result is only ugly
Ugly thoughts, decisions, circumstances
And they manifest in the mirror
So I face backwards when I brush my teeth.