Written a year ago from the belly of the beast.

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I sit with myself

in uncomfortable silence

suppressed screams

ringing in my ears

tears running down my face

again

 

All my demons

insecurities

have come out to play

today

mocking me with their laughter

taunting voices

sing-song in my head

 

Shit mother

Shit wife

Shit niece

Shit cousin

Shit friend

Shit human being

 

Over and over

endless loop

of recrimination

 

On days like this

I can’t even remember who

I am anymore

I don’t know

what is mine to claim

I am no one

I am pain

 

I read an essay right before Christmas

calling for compassion

for those “poor unfortunate souls”

who are depressed over the holidays

who engage in self-harm

who contemplate suicide

the writer referred to them as “damaged”

my hackles went up

“Only I get to call me damaged, lady,”

I angrily responded

if only in my head

 

Only I get to define the frantic dance

my neural synapses have been engaged in

no one else

gets to name

my crazy for me

no one gets to pity me

not even me

especially not me

 

If awards were given out

for running on sheer will

stubbornness

this past year

I should at least be

on the nomination list

look  for my name under

Depression/Bipolar Disorder

PTSD

and

I’m still breathing

 

© 2016 Revised 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved