Monday, February 17, 2014

Social Phobic

     Do I have a coherent string of those anymore? Has the Topamax jumbled my thoughts and stripped the foyer of my skull temple so bare that even the monks of sanity are having a rough go of it, here of late? It feels that way. Up is down. Down is west. West is where we want to be. Sunshine and endless, glorious, balmy, summertime for days and days. Who wouldn't want that, though? Maybe those folk who don't fare well in the heat. People who were made for the snow. I always did think they were a bit off somehow. Strong and resilient, yes, but how on earth do they not suffer depression of the darkest sorts? Strange…
     Anxiety is the name of the game - flat out. Just another round of medicines and supplements to help cut off the venom-drenched mummy wrappings that wrap around every single damn nerve. When you try to snip the wrong one - they all go off like a bomb, and explode by tightening around their nerves and soaking them in the venom. Leaving me to devolve and writhe on the floor like the sub-human creature that I really think that I am. Anxiety…is such a fucking bitch. 
     I feel lost. I can't work. People scare me. Phones scare me. If I could work a job that required  minimal human contact, like data entry without phones, I could do it. I would never speak, hardly. Just get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner. Go to bed. Pampering would happen on weekends. I have to find a job. I'm afraid that I won't. I'm afraid I will ruin everything that is going so amazingly well in my life right now because of this godforsaken disease. I can't make people understand that I am so insanely afraid of people at times that I would rather take over a shift as a beekeeper. I'm phobic of bees. The beekeeper has a spray that keeps the bees calm plus he has protective gear. He's protected. 
     In a job, a regular, "real," job - I am not protected and my mind KNOWS this. Anything could happen. It terrifies me. I am terrified of failure. I am terrified of people. I am terrified of everything. I'm just terrified. I am afraid of working. I am afraid. I do and do not know all the reasons why. 

Friday, February 14, 2014

What then?

If the warmth of the early summer
comes along,
Whipping at the hairs around
my throat and neck,
& your own mouth does not
vie for the attention of
the flesh surrounding there,

What does that mean?

If the stars in the sky
react like popping candy
in the mouth of God,
but your laughter does not
intermingle with my own,
beneath that dome

What does that mean?

If, when I drive,
going sixty down Kentucky Road,
sun hung low in the sky,
the warm summer air whips at the hair
at my neck and atop my head,
& I cackle gleefully at some funny thought
in my mildly macabre mind,
and you are not there to kiss my
fleshy throat,
and you are not there to laugh along with
me in the cacophonous noise of music on the


If I'm to meet you on a balcony in a posh
California home,
Will you meet me at the end of that walk to the rim,
or will I walk on until I lunge forward into street below?
& if I am to see you on the beach, will you actually be
there - hands touching my forearm slightly,
eyes glittering, smiling, overjoyed that I made it with you,
Or - when I arrive to the Sea that day, drenched in driving rain,
will I just let go and
will I just keep walking on until salt water fills my soul?