around this time last year
I could feel it getting bad again.
sleepless nights turned into weeks.
I’d wake up on a Sunday and
get ready for work,
drink a whole pot of coffee in between
cigarettes.
the crash would come
and so I’d drink some more.
my heart pumping energy drinks
through my veins
instead of crimson blood.
the medicine wasn’t working
back then.
I had stopped taking them
because
instead of feeling better
I’d pop a pill
and my heart would begin to race.
“this is the end of me,”
I’d cry in the car
on my breaks at work.
“this is it.”
I’d spend those thirty minutes
on the phone with my mom
as she talked me down
from anxiety
that felt like a heart attack.
my chest collapsing before my eyes.
because of this the caffeine
and the sleepless nights
would trigger mania.
I spent many Friday mornings
in my run-down black
and beat up chevy cruz
driving to West Virginia
without telling anyone.
then I’d come home in time for dinner
not hinting that I skipped town.
every Friday.
all of april
and
all of may.
every Friday I’d finally
sleep for the first time
since Sunday.
there was no life
left behind my eyes.
I’d barely eat.
reading wasn’t fun.
I can’t even recall a poem
I wrote around that time.
they say your life changes
before your eyes.
well.
mine did.
because it’s may
again and instead of
drinking cans and cans
of colored caffeine,
I’m back to enjoying
teas.
my medicine is working.
there’s a light inside my eyes.
I’m diving into other worlds
while reading everyday.
I’m painting again.
the words are there.
they never left me.
they were always there.
the medicine is working again
and life is beautiful
and pain is temporary.
the medicine is working again
and I have a will to live
and see a future.
the medicine is working again
and the sun has come out
from behind the clouds.
the medicine is working again
but this time I have myself to thank,
not just a tiny white pill.

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