This.
This a thousand million googol times.
This different kind of imposter syndrome, what would you call it?
nothing reliable, nothing real
no sure footing
feeling fake all the time, having to adjust my face, my
mask
The thing that most gets me through is knowing
(this tiny, blurry, hazy beacon in the fog)
knowing that it will indeed end, that it will shift because it always does.
not always for the better and many times for the much, much worse
But change, indeed, will happen.
Change always (eventually) for the good
for the evolution
for the revolution.
let go or be dragged.
I am long enough into this diagnosis,
my clinical history starred and asterisked and underlined
drugs and cocktails of drugs given and discarded
I am long enough into this life to know that I am a compliant patient.
I am long enough into this life to know my own body, and what feels right for it.
I have never misunderstood the importance of taking all the medicine.
Following the directions.
Being a good girl.
but what happens when you do everything right, when you do everything you are supposed to do and still nothing works?
When you “soldier on”
as opposed to what?
You wait patiently for spring, then summer to end.
You lean on your friends, your lovers as much as you think they can stand
always risking oversharing, overeverything
reaching the point where it is your literal life on the line and you are
Depending on
I can barely breathe for the tension I feel
not wanting to overstay my welcome
not wanting to overwhelm others as I am completely overwhelmed
the noise in my head is unending
the thing that keeps me here
the knowing that it will shift
that it will change
that it won’t always be like this.
Until it is again.
The Salty Widow 