I take benadryl to help me sleep at night
sometimes
I also have an itch to soothe
but mostly I just
need a way to make this body as tired as
the brain that runs it
god damn it
but if there’s a way to be addicted
to allergy medicine
I’ve found it in blurry eyes and fuzzy thoughts
brought on by
two little pink pills
Tag: Mental Illness
posts that reference neurodivergence, such as depression, anxiety, and ADHD
drift [poem]
I refuse to make concrete plans anymore
because I don’t remember
what trust is
what hope feels like
I’m not upset though
just that soft sort of apathetic
the one that makes everything feel neutral
vague and grey around the edges
I’m not being cynical
I know that good things happen
and I’m worthy of those good things
I know that
but it’s so much easier to drift unguided
than to try to take the wheel
and crash my own dreams into failure
better to be the sea glass
polished by a rough ride across the ocean floor
than to be a boat
wrecked on life’s stubborn shore
anxiety [poem]
this is not a poem or
this is a poem but a bad one about anxiety and
does it count if it reads more like
a diary entry than a poem?
this is confession
I can face any leader or manager
or president or celebrity
without issue
because I’m never facing them as me
I’m meeting them as one-of-a-collective
a mouthpiece for the hive mind
a bringer of data problems and solutions
to assist the unit as a whole
I only face anxiety when separated from my pack
suddenly scrutinized as one-of-one instead of seven-of-nine
measured completely by myself
it doesn’t matter if
the measure is positive or
the scale imbalanced against me
I cannot handle direct focus
my heart races
blood rushing to feed the swarm of thoughts
buzzing in my skull
I’m wrong I’m bad I’ve done something
have I done something?
no
I breathe
remind myself that I’m good
I’ve met all requested goals and
surpassed basic success parameters by a large margin
but still
anxiety twists me up until
it’s all I can do to remember my own name
cold [poem]
the only time I get cold is when I’m sick
usually my hands are
bonfire flames in the middle of the night
I give great hugs
the kind that play warm blanket
tucking you firmly into the shelter of my arms
usually isn’t always though
when depression slows down my heartbeat
until the blood stops reaching the furthest parts of me
I get icicles for toes
slip my hands into the collar of my shirt
until the chill seeps away into warmer skin
when I catch a cold
a rarity but still a burden we all bear eventually
my internal furnace runs low on oxygen
my lungs unable to keep up with the demand for fuel
and so I shiver
quake in a pile of comforters
with a cup of hot cocoa and the knowledge that
this too shall pass
my body temperature is the first sign of my health
before all else
hidden [poem]
if life is all about experiences
then I’m all about hide and seek
carefully tucking myself out of sight
silent because
no one will invite me to do things if I’m invisible
and I prefer invisibility to vulnerability
my soul
a freshly healed and tender wound
that I instinctively protect from being
reopened and exposed
this is all to say that no
I don’t want to go out to lunch
or come by for a movie
I want books and reruns and wordless nights at home
medicine [poem]
I forgot to take my medicine
but getting up to go to the bathroom for it is
admitting that I’m still awake
thinking about things and
dwelling on things and
realizing I’ve forgotten my damned medicine
again
ugh
it’s winter though
so allergies aren’t really a thing or
at least I pretend to believe that as I lay here
not sleeping
and totally hyper focused on those
stupid pills
I haven’t taken yet
damn it
a blessing or a curse [poem]
some days the poems feel like
congealed grease smeared between my fingers
and I hate them
I want to find a faucet and
let heat and soap rinse them down the drain
to leave me clean again
some days the poems feel like
kicking off your shoes
at the end of a long day on your feet
letting the flex and press of your toes against carpet
ease the familiar ache
some days the poems feel like
lemon juice on a cut at the corner of your mouth
you didn’t even realize was there
until it stung like a brand
some days the poems feel like
ice tea dripping condensation down your wrist
as you chug down sweet relief
until it puts out the angry fires in your gut
poetry is a blessing or a curse
determined on a day by day basis
mental illness as a superpower [poem]
I’d like to think
my love for Bruce Banner and Bucky Barnes
stems from a deep understanding
of what it means to be broken
to live with a
toxic disconnect
between key pieces of your own psyche
like embracing that violent rage or icy indifference
is an act of bravery
rather than just an act of survival
you see
when my depression rears up in my throat like acidic bile
I used to fight it
swallow it down and
bury whatever parts of me birthed that monster
but now
now I’m less afraid of
what might happen if I let go
lose control to the urges of my darker half
instead I find comfort in knowing she
the depressed poet with the hollow heart
can save others with her faded echo of a life
she can protect me from this world
with apathy and dispassionate stillness
if I were to meet the broken boys of Marvel
I do believe the Winter Soldier and the Hulk
would call my shadow self
friend
lost at sea [poem]
I’m afraid of success
of reaching a goal only to find myself lost
without purpose
it’s happened before
the sudden removal of a long time compass that
leaves you floating in the middle of the sea
with no land in sight
on a cloudy starless night
I’m afraid of losing the small bits of map
I’ve managed to salvage
translated from the last time I lost my way
I don’t know where the nearest shore is
just your basic north and south determination
but still
I’m afraid I’ll lose that too
if I do anything
other than breathe
being the seed [poem]
this is hard
this turning of the wheel
this filling of blank pages with a mess of feelings and ink
this is being alive but not living
this hovering just out of reach
this do not touch me aura mixed with kindness and warmth
this is the struggle
this wiping away of a decade of growth
to start a new garden in its place
this is being the seed
before the soil and sun can crack your shell
and set you free
listmaker [poem]
I make lists like blinking
a constant and necessary process of
what and how and then
I’ve always been the kind to
jot down big ideas into tiny tasks
forever looking for the easy way
to work smart not hard
it’s in the moments between bullet points
that I flail without direction
those are the only times I feel truly
unready and unfettered
dusty bones [poem]
tonight is another poemless night
the kind where my words are hollow
ghosts of long dead ideas
I can’t help but write their dusty bones onto paper
as if that single act of remembrance
could undo the deaths
Tony Stark [poem]
some days I relate to Tony Stark
his mind running the numbers
calculating variables
a thousand thoughts a second
can you imagine how noisy it must be
inside his head at night
when all he wants is sleep
but the thoughts
the ideas and the data analysis and the
three dozen new hypotheses to test
they don’t care about something so trivial as sleep
and that’s when we ignore the mistakes
and the anxiety
and the nightmares
a faster processing speed doesn’t mean
he gets solutions to every problem
but rather
he’s seen forward to the next set of issues
and the next
and the next
layer after layer of an endless mess
sometimes
the data is too much
and making it all go soft around the edges
with whatever poison fits the bill tonight is just
the best way to find something resembling
peace of mind
if only for a moment
Larissa Lee 