Sick

Today is a day for free-verse poetry because I feel so very very bad.
Oh, probably should note this: going to talk about my relationship and possibly sex stuff. Stay away if you’re squicked or weird.

Where to even begin?
Each day that seems good seems like the end of this ‘episode’
Until suddenly everything tanks.
I live my life from one day to the next
And every day it isn’t a question of IF I’ll feel bad
But simply when.

I find myself laughing and doing and thinking and being
And then it’s just gone.
Replaced with a terrible heaviness, a weight, a pain
An ache in my chest
A sick twist in my stomach
A throbbing in my temples and behind my eyes.
The headache, at least, is not a guarantee.

Then all the things that were fine, or at least livable
Are huge mountains in my mind
Blocking the reason and logic I so vehemently tout.
And at the end of the day, I just want to sleep
But I stay up because I know
If I go in that room and try to shut my eyes
They will pry themselves open
My mind too concerned over things that shouldn’t matter
My torso filled with cement
Dragging me down and yet forcing me up.

Sometimes
When my body and mind refuse to listen
And I go in that room, knowing sleep is just a dream
And knowing that morning wood is easy to coerce
Sex becomes the answer, the release of endorphins
The feeling of being held and loved and moved in deep ways
But our moments of desire so infrequently intersect.
And then I make myself guilty imagining it with others

Like being poly is a bad thing
And, oh, it is, when you’ve unknowingly trapped yourself in monogamy
Because this is what happens when you get in so deep.
I didn’t know myself well enough
I didn’t think this through
Before committing to something so serious and so long-term
Because I thought that’s what I wanted;
Everybody’s ideal.

And now I feel suffocated by our heteronormative
Perfect little setup
And then I feel horrible
For being resentful of something beautiful
Something wonderful and supportive and consistent
A being who challenges me, loves me
Gives me what I need when he can
Stays despite all my short-comings and overreaching requests

But to deny that this is a relationship of restrictions
Is to deny that I am poly and queer.

So I make myself content with a body that I’m not
I stop wearing binders and pulling and tugging
At things that shouldn’t be there
And I grow out my hair
And I get myself off
Thinking about whatever I want
Because thoughts are not cheating.

And every day I get up and force myself to eat
I force myself to do dishes
But I can’t force myself to create
So my art goes unfinished
My posts go unpublished
I even asked not to be scheduled these next couple weeks
Because I literally couldn’t make myself
Write the last two I was meant.

I complain that I have no friends
And then stop talking to them
Because really I have nothing new to say
I feel the same way about everything
I’m in the same predicament
I’m still waiting for my scheduled appointment
Because I took the wrong advice.

It’s just getting worse.
I keep up the caffeine, and it still gets worse.
I love on my cat
I force enough nutrients on myself
Can’t make myself exercise
I feel like I Can’t Do Anything Right
or just can’t do anything.

I blink furiously behind the counter at work
Trying not to cry in front of customers
Because there is no refuge to take.
I sob uncontrollably in bed
Because I can’t sleep
Or because I feel unwanted
Ironically, despite sometimes feeling worse for being loved
Because of my femininity.

And even though I have wonderful friends
People who support me and love me
Who give me exemptions and encourage me to get better
Who make me cry with their care and attention

I still
Feel
Worse

Every

Day.

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One thought on “Sick

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