Coping

Thumb to fingertips and deep breaths,

I am pulling out old coping skills,

repeating mantras in the dark.

I am pushing through nausea like a pro,

functioning on coffee in the morning and first meals after dusk.

My smartwatch warns of low cardio health,

mistaking anxiety for physical problems I don't have;

I can force a smile through the day, but I can't hide my pulse.

Counting sheep through sleepless nights,

I am begging the exhaustion to take over,

willing myself to succumb so I can cross another date off the calendar.

This routine must take its course, chew me up, spit me out as it always does

before I can get back to normal, climb my way out of this rut.

I have never learned to make my wheels stop spinning,

to accept the things I cannot understand with ease.

My body has always chosen to rebel.