I lost my shit

I lost my shit.

Again.

(Not angrily, like before.

Quietly.

Almost silent.

Nothing big, elaborate.

No fireworks.

Just my soul,

Tip tip toeing. Quietly escaping me.)

I lost my shit,

I know you think it’s all I do.

Then,

tail between my legs,

I sheepishly collect all the shards and fragments

All the pieces of myself

I’d left carelessly lying around

Thinking, I’ll sort that bit out tomorrow.

“Tomorrow”

I say again 2 days later

When I still can’t convince my body

or my mind

That there’s anything worth being vertical for.

But that only makes it worse.

I’m supposed to be managing my pain.

So how is that?

Is this managing?

…Is this?

How do I endure it better?

I deserve to rest, don’t I?

It’s easily forgotten

How quickly a paralysed mind can seep in

Can spread across a weakened body

A mind, not quite awake enough

to see the warning signs

to stop the spread

And just as fast,

it infects the limbs,

Spreads,

just like before.

So I’m back where I started.

And as the sky pulls its inky curtain over another day

here we are again.

The same mess.

“No , I meant tomorrow”

I whisper the next morning.

As if tricking myself

As if I won’t know

It was yesterday.

If I just keep saying

“Tomorrow”.

maybe it will never come.

Sometimes I think

I’ve got so good at pulling the wool over my own eyes

I think my glasses might actually be a jumper.