These days,
you don’t talk to anyone.
You hear the offers,
and you refuse to take them,
refuse to give anyone
the satisfaction
of helping.

[What could they do,
what could they say?]

These days,
you don’t reach out
reply as much as you have to
when approached,
and disappear into dissociation again.

You don’t feel bad,
you don’t feel sad,
you don’t feel.

Only tell yourself that
they don’t need you
and you don’t need them.

You’re alone.

But not lonely.
Your brain is home to a chorus,
there’s never a dull moment.

How could you ever be alone
with so many voices in your head?

There’s the querulous one of anxiety with her constant,
whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido?

The heavy, lumbering one of depression, who only mumbles,
Who cares? None of this matters.

There is the babble of Mombrain,
a hodge podge of toxic sludge that
at this point,
is not cruel but
almost comical:
You’reuglystupidbadloserfreaksocialmisfitliarliarliarug­lystupidbaddesperatepatheticracistunfeelingcoldfuckyouyoulazyburd­enonsocietyfuckyou.

There is the matter of fact one of Logic Brain.
She is the one who
has to do damage control, works overtime to
make you appear Sane, Articulate,  Good, Better.

She is the one who guides you through
every
single
action.

Get out of bed.
Now brush your teeth.
Now make the bed.
Now take a shower.
Now put on clothes,
Now eat - you have to eat multiple meals.
Now take your meds, don’t be a child.
You are going to get things done today.
You will be Fine.

But the whisper
is the one that interests you,
scares you,
thrills you the most.

She's the one you never shut down.

She is cool, suave.
You can never see her, of course,
but she is the girl you could never be.
She is
so close,
so seductive -
just                  out of reach.
She breathes into your ear:
crash the car,
jump on the tracks,
fly off the bridge,
stab yourself to watch the blood,
drink the nail polish remover,
chug a whole bottle of whiskey
and down some pills,
just like the old days,
remember the old days,
you were sure you would die?
You can still Do It.

Ideation always whispers,
but the whispers are so loud,
feel so
right.

She tells you:
You think I’ll disappear, but
you and I,
we’ll always be going steady,
I’m not like those other girls,
the ones who rip out your heart,
who never say sorry when they need to,
who use you and expect so much and
leave when they’re done.
Baby, with me
there will never be any surprises
no heartbreak,
no drama,
no manipulation
no uncertainty.

*Baby,
I will never leave you,
I am the one constant.
Come into my arms,
let me hold you tight
and never let you go.