Friday, February 26, 2021
Poetry Writing

Crisis

I am in the midst of an interesting crisis today. The day I have to refill my medication is always hard on me. I tend to stare at the empty pill bottles and feel absolutely empty inside. The voices resurface and remind me that I am helpless without the chicken scratch prescription. If I exist without a simple tablet my mind takes me to exotic realities, full of my greatest fears and stripped of those I love. In this existence love is replaced with hate, anger makes me feel loved, and tears are my greatest strength.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No calmer so I take another. Another, another, another and I start counting my breath. Closing my mind to anything but the ticking numbers.  

Inhale. Exhale. Empty Bottle. 

Inhale. Exhale. Push them all away.  

Inhale. Exhale. This isn’t working. 

Inhale. One. 

Exhale. Two.  

Open my eyes and take in the familiar room around me. The pile of dirty laundry I was supposed to clean yesterday, the fork on the counter I forgot when I did dishes. Colorful drawings on red construction paper. A smattering of every color, and the bubbled signature of a 5 year old.  

This is my home. Everything stands where it is because of love. Love built this family. Love built this home. Love built a second chance at life for me.  

However I find myself constantly torn. Is my mind the prison, or is my cell shaded green and covered in warning labels? 

Either way, Love is the key.  

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