I am not well
And I have not been well-
Whatever well means-
For quite a while now.
Most days I awake feeling heavy
Like a bag full of water.
I'm both glad and sad
The night didn't take my soul captive.
It is "getting up"
That is hardest, so I sit
On the edge of my bed
For a bit and then rise
And stretch and sigh
A long sigh.
I drag myself around from
Place to place-
To the places I must be.
My stomach stays in knots
With the awareness that
We're all so small, fragile,
And utterly alone between
Birth and death despite all
The growing that gets done.
The anxiety wants to come up
And out because everything is
So uncertain and everything is
So frightening.
I want to hug myself
And crawl back under my blanket
And close my eyes, watching
And counting the Sheep.
I want to sleep away the sickness
That is "loneliness" and "lostness."
Everyone says they'll go away
If I get out of bed but getting out
Seems to only make things worse.
I am reminded of all the reasons
Why I am ill.