Just keep trudging on
It’s been three years
Since the day I asked you to label me.
Three years since the relief that I wasn’t imagining what I was feeling.
It was real
Three years since I sat on the edge of the bed
With a box of z-drugs
(That I now know wouldn’t have made a difference)
But considered making that difference
To my place in the world.
Three years of the worst kind of rollercoaster
And I don’t even like rollercoasters.
Of swings and roundabouts
Of “just keep going
because there’s nothing else we can do”.
I’ve spend nights trying to hide
from the images tattooed on the inside of my eyes.
But things have got better:
I can smile for days at a time.
Love that everything is good
(Whilst fearing that it will come back)
And it does always does come back.
A constant tug of war for my emotional integrity.
I don’t want to fight anymore
But I don’t want to let it win.
That alone is exhausting.
Could be worse, eh?