I'm trying not to panic on my lunch break
again
Trying to come off as normal-brained
to restrain
from stimming and making myself look weird
to make sure all the masking is in the clear
I've said so many weird things today
When they laugh, is it because
I'm funny--
or are they making fun of me?
I can't wait to get home,
where I can feel safe and not alone
understood and reassurred
relaxed and untaxed
I miss my cats
I need a bath
to soak and bathe and feel unafraid
of things they will say
or think of me...
I feel so weird
I don't feel like me
About the Creator
Jessi
Writer on the Oregon coast. Lover of nature, poetry, and coffee! I love to write about my travels, lovers + mental health. Thanks for your support! Feel free to browse, share, and comment away. :)
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
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