Keep Trudging On...

I wrote a poem. It is not good, but because I've neglected blogger of late I thought I'd share. 

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

And tangible

And medical.

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

Trampoline living

Fighting

And pushing

And crying

And wailing

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.

Be normal,

Be happy,

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.

Still,

Could be worse, eh?