Tag Archives: Depression

Outer Space On Earth

I’ve been searching for an apt description of how I’ve been feeling since beginning gabapentin but have been at a loss until now. While out driving today-and having skipped the a.m. dose- I realized I almost felt stoned, like being on pot. I am so spaced out, it’s entirely likely someone might mistake me for being a pothead. I wish I were being dramatic or had some sort of vendetta against the drug working but…this is the cold hard truth of how it makes me feel. Will it go away in a week? Maybe. Will my body adapt as the dose goes up? Possibly. I have such high hopes, based on what others have said about their experience. But also a certain wariness based on also what I’ve heard about the negative experience of others, not to mention my doctor’s seeming apathy about my bad reaction to the high dose. I am committed to giving it a fair chance but feeling spaced out all of the time is not my idea of an optimal response. Not to mention through the spacy fog, my heart feels like a bullet richeting off walls inside my chest. I don’t like that at all.

I bothered to drag out the laptop and hotspot my phone for this post. I hate using the stupid phone. And yeah, that is a play on words, and my actual opinion, of smart phones. I like the multipurpose of the thing, it’s like a swiss knife of phones. It’s also a pain in my ass trying to get apps with limited space cos idiot Android won’t let me store apps on my micro SD car so I never have enough room. Then I have to learn how to use each app, and I’ve already wiped out a post and several replies on wordpress because…I have no idea what my fat fingers are doing even with a fat finger keyboard app. Anyway…it just seemed worth the hassel and added mb usage for this post. Not cos I have anything important to say but because…I arose from yesterday’s inertia and had the excess energy to drag out the computer and not spaz out over using more mb than I have to. I even wore eyeliner and mascara today, plus undergarments and clean clothes that aren’t black. OMG. It isn’t because I am feeling great. My body feels like lead, my limbs might as well be concrete, and everything aches. It’s because I felt such guilt about basically shutting down for two days. I am forcing myself to behave ‘normally’ when I feel anything but normal.

And after having to move an entire house full of stuff 20 miles over a ten day span with a child in tow yet not feeling this crappy…I am inclined to think gabapentin is simply kicking my ass with negative side effects. I may be wrong, who knows.

We are getting a used wash machine tonight. Stepmonster found it in the paper for $75 and I can only cover 3/4 of it thanks to a donation but I can hang dry stuff or hit the dryers for a quarter a 10 minute load, which is a hell of a lot better than $4.00 a load at the scuz o mat. She got me two rolling racks to hang dry things on since we have no shower or rod to hang stuff from. Or closets. I am grateful and relieved, other than the unbearable anxiety and hassel of them actually invading my safe space and delivering it. And that’s my neuroses, I own it, they’re trying to help and my scumbag brain interprets it as a threat.

At the same time, their utter disregard for my disorders, mental health, and usurping me with my child and my rules for her-that IS a huge threat. And since I owe them so much money, they feel justified in upsetting me at every opportunity and keep her whenever they choose for as long as they choose.Me asserting myself does no good, they are bulldozers. Which makes me feel so powerless and utterly shitty. I honestly thought (deluded myself) that people would donate. $60 in six weeks is not reflecting well on my ability to motivate a fundraiser. It’s not like I don’t get it. I watched a show the other day where a woman pretended to be her teenage daughter on line and bilked a guy out of $60,000. A large percentage of people on line asking for money are scammers.

I am not. And asking for help is not easy for me. Unfortunately, I only have the consistency of my blog about our money difficulties and my word as proof so I do get it why people don’t donate. And I get that so many are having similar problems, they simply can’t afford it. I just had…hopes. Owing the paternal faction of my family is like being buried in concrete. I can move, I can’t breathe, so I just stay alive never going anywhere. I’ve not even managed trash pick up, my car insurance is late, and internet is as big a dream as winning the lottery. This isn’t whining. This is my reality.

Also my reality is my kid having a hard time to adapt to the new place and new school. I honestly thought she’d adapt better than me, but that hasn’t really been the case. Of course, it’s impossible to ever truly take her at face value because she is an emotional chameleon. She tells my dad’s faction she likes it here, she tells my mom’s faction she hates it, she tells me she hates, but the bulldozers come in and flatten the truth. Because any opinion other than their own is wrong and even I am not that overbearing and controlling. I admit, I am struggling with her struggling. She is manipulative and no, I don’t care what the child psych said about not using that term because it is accurate. She has more of her father in her-minus his actual influence-than I want to admit. That flexibility in personality and opinion, that need to be a people pleaser than harbor resentment for it-that’s a page out of the donor’s book. This is one trait I can’t own because my biggest detriment has always been my refusal to change to fit in or keep the peace. I have my resentments, but my own choices being held against others is not one of them. I’m ill equipped to handle this child rearing problem but as I have zero choice…I am doing best I can.

You’d think as spaced out as I feel, it would muffle some of the extreme emotion that accompanies my current issues and personal struggles. Nope. Not so lucky. I am still feeling it all, just from under a gauzy later of medication. And I’ve mythbusted, it’s not the Effexor, it is the gabapentin.

I noticed, also, while driving 28 miles just to make a trip to town for supplies and a trip to my mom’s- I feel so spaced out, backing my car out or navigating a crowded parking lot is daunting. Terrifying. Going down the interstate with farm implements and machinery always puttering along one lane, while other traffic seems to be coming at me from a back road…GRRR. Freak out city. It wasn’t bothering me so much. Now it is. The isolation is bothering me. The lack of wifi net access is driving me bonkers. How long the days here seem is grueling. It’s one thing to choose to stay home and not interact. To be forced to stay home due to mileage, a busted belt on the car tire, and gas costs-that is maddening.

But I guess in the interest of fairness I should look for the positive in my life right now.

Beyond pulling in Ion channel for free via the digital bunny ears and having a roof overhead…I am coming up empty. Doesn’t bode well for the Effexor doing any miracle work.

If both meds are failing me with this new doctor, I fear I am screwed. And I don’t mean that in a bawdy pleasurable way.

How Was The Ketamine?

I thought you’d never ask.

Ketamine. I had five treatments intravenously, dosed at 0.5 mg/kg initially. The plan was to gradually increase the dose, but my body didn’t like that (weird very uncomfortable muscle spasms). So we stayed with the initial dose.

The treatments themselves turned out to be more of a chore than a vacation. My veins suck because, connective tissue badness. They are these tiny spidery things that instantly explode when touched by a needle. Therefore, I was touched by many needles in order to get five IV infusions in, and now, every halfway decent vein I had is a purple blotch, with yellow and green accents. Beautiful. Hope I don’t need any emergencytype treatment any time soon, because I donated all my veins to Vitamin “K.”

But what about my brain? You inquire. After all, she’s the star of this shitshow. The only reason I would go to such extremes of drug-taking and expense (did I mention the expense? Oy vavoy).

Let’s see…I can’t really judge how I feel by how I feel…yes, I know….really the only way to tell how I’m feeling is to look at what I’m doing, because aside from the affective part of the affective disorder, my main symptom of depression is the one where I turn into, like, a rock, moving only under extreme duress, kind of like what normal people do when they’re asleep, except in my case, I’m not asleep at all. Ever. Just. Not. Moving.

I’m still kind of lethargic, but my appetite is back. Apparently I was too depressed to notice that my appetite had gone south. I had lost over 10 lb, but my residual anorexic self was sluggishly applauding that. She’s now disgusted that I’m making omelettes at 9 a.m., as opposed to breakfasting on frozen Trader Joe’s Indian food at 5 in the afternoon. I’m moving around, noticing the extreme layer of desert dust that is covering absolutely everything. That’s a sign, noticing things. Getting up and doing something about it–that’s still in the realm of the theoretical, but at least the notion does flit through the cold molasses of my mind.

I was really hoping that the irritability part would go away. It has abated somewhat, but Atina the Wonder Doggess is still keeping an eye on me in case of explosions. I feel bad, because I grew up “walking on eggshells” around my mother, and I hate it that I give my loyal pup reason to do the same around me. I really feel like climbing into a hollow tree trunk and staying there for the rest of my assigned days.

So I would say I’ve had a partial remission. Better than none! We’ll see how long it lasts. I’m supposed to have another treatment in a couple of weeks, but I don’t yet know how or where. One minute at a time.


For weeks I have been running around in either full blown or half blown panic. I’ve been fortunate enough to have a few calmer down days,but also fortunate enough to not hit a ‘splat’ inertia patch.

That run ended today and I have no idea why. Nothing traumatic happened. I had every intention of going out today,we need at least one load of laundry done…but it’s nearing noon and all I have accomplished are clean clothes and nuked frozen lasagna for breakfast.

It’s hard to explain this inertia. Could it be related to starting the gabapentin? I have a long standing sensitivity to meds,either they make me strung out anxious or groggy dopey lethargy.

Today’s inertia is a mix of unexplained anxiety and a leaden paranoid ‘if I move,something bad will happen’ feeling. It’s disturbing and worse, having read some forums on reactions to yo gabba gabba…Is this the start of me taking to my bed and never wanting to leave the house?

For sure an overreaction,you can’t discern long term outcome after a few doses. But scumbag brain likes making those leaps,that way if the worst does happen,I am prepared.

It galls me to not be able to get myself moving and out the door. If I’m not going out then I have wasted clean clothes,coulda stayed in jammies. Sadly,this is what life for me has devolved into. Worrying that every time I put on clean clothes it’s gonna cost money to wash them and Spook having clean clothes for school is more important so I can stay in the same clothes a couple days straight. It’s constricting to think in these terms. It wasn’t free to do laundry when we had working washer and dryer but at least it didn’t require leaving the house or having cash on hand. Grr.

But yeah, we may have a roof overhead and it may be nicer than our trailer was but it comes with many,many downsides. Like needing $5 in gas just to go to town for food. Or doing laundry,which is tough when you can’t bring yourself to leave the house.

GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MOVE!!! I scream at myself. Some days ripping the band aid off works. This is not one of those days. And honestly as foggy as I feel,I probably shouldn’t be driving anyway. (That IS the gabapentin).

So…dirty laundry will still be there tomorrow but so will yo gabba gabba so I can’t even be sure the inertia will wear off once the current mind frame passes.

I will give the med more time before making a decision about pro v cons but any med that makes me feel too wonky to drive and puts lethargy on top of heightened anxiety…don’t need tragic h8te ball to tell me it doesn’t bode well.

Hope I am wrong and gabba gabba is my wonder drug.

I also hope to win the lottery without ever buying a ticket so my mental state is suspect at times.

Gabapentin,take two

So I am two 100 mg doses into yo gabba gabba (gabapentin) and I must admit…It’s not the toxin I thought it was. The 300mg twice daily was simply too strong a dose to start me on. I am very sensitive to medications and I always get the weirdest,rarest side effects so the doctors never believe I having the trouble I am. That’s why I think it’s important psychiatrists should spend more than ten minutes with a new patient. Had my new doc bothered to learn of my sensitivity to meds,we could have avoided a lot of misery for me,not to mention the hassel of trying to get a hold of them. As it is,the decrease script wasn’t even written by my new doc,it was written by another doc on staff.

Which leads scumbag brain to all sorts of paranoid conclusions about the new doc. Perhaps the most valid concern is simple fact- she doesn’t have time to be bothered with a long time med resistant patient.

So last night I took the first 100 mg yo gabba gabba and braced myself for the uber icky side effects. Aside from the usual increase in heart rate, I just drifted off to sleep. I woke at 2 a.m. and wasn’t ‘drunk’ or stumbling or sleep walking. I stayed up a bit then eventually went back to sleep.

I was awake before my kid,no hangover,no headache,not even a groggy haze. I was surprised because the 300 mgs kicked my ass when I took them then the entire day after taking them and it wasn’t going away.

I took my second 100 mg dose at 8:30 today and I didn’t zonk out. I did get a bit dizzy,lethargic,and my heartbeat was so rapid,it mimicked a panic attack. Feeling so out of it was disturbing but it faded after 90 minutes or so of curling up on the couch under mermaid blankie with the cat.

I don’t feel too awful now but I can tell the gabapentin is affecting my reaction time and alertness. My extremities sort of feel heavy,like they are leaden. I am told there is a good chance this will subside as I am on the med longer. I hope so. I read some forums where yo gabba gabba turned people into sluggish couch potatoes who felt the med ruined their life.

Let that not be my experience.

So…if you are med sensitive and a drug is started at a high dose when lower dose is available…don’t be afraid to speak up and tell the doc. Dose change can make all the difference.

What My Current Depression is Teaching Me

It has been about a week since I wrote my last post saying I didn’t know when I would write again because of depression. Well, I never thought that the very thing that was keeping me from writing would actually inspire me to do so! And that is only one of the many things I …

Limbo, Golden Days, Public meltdowns, and Therapy Peacocks

Therapy peacocks???WTF, Morgue? Lolol. It’s an Arby’s commercial and it cracks me up. I believe in therapy animals, but a therapy peacock on an airplane…That’s just funny.

Golden days…I had one last Thursday. Kids playing in the yard, got stuff done, even survived my creepy brother hanging out, uninvited. (Sorry, love him, but a 23 year old who spends all his time wanting to hang out with my 8 year old is fucking creepy.) It was just a rarity, to feel in a decent mental space, to have major stressors like noisy kids, other parents, and people to deal with, plus 45 minutes of homework four nights a week which in Spook time turns into ninety minutes cos most is spent having a fit…I handled it beautifully. Golden days.

More often, I have pyrite days. Fool’s gold. Up and functioning, but so stilted by one or another disorder that it’s not a quality day. That was Friday. Temp dropped from sixties to thirties, gloom, off and on rain. Couldn’t get warm. Had to work up the courage to call the doctor’s office about the whole gabapentin situation. The nurse was supposed to get back with me Thursday but didn’t. It took another three hours after I called, me wringing my hands, breaking out in hives, stomach churning the whole time. Limbo. Ick. This new doc has me rattled to the nth degree. I don’t want to be viewed as some troublemaker constantly in need of attention but at the same time, I can’t be held responsible for their short staffing issues. It is perfectly logical to contact the doctor’s office when you are having trouble with a medication.

And 300 mg of gabba gabba kicked my ass and left me wishing for death so it was crucial to get hold of them, not because I am unwilling to try it-I’ve heard and read great things about it as an anxiety med. I just want to start at a lower dose. And so I need to get thee into town to the pharmacy to pick that up.

I engaged in some exposure therapy over the weekend. Not because I wanted to but because things had to be done and I figure if I do the exposure therapy thing it will either fix me or melt me down further so they have to put me on lockdown. Either way I am trying.

I dropped my kid at mom’s for a sleepover, braved Aldi, was doing ok in spite of the dismal rainy weather…Then I hit Hellmart. I mean Walmart. ARGGHHHHHH. I hate that place with the burning intensity of a thousand suns. But in keeping with exposure therapy I used one of the self check outs for the first time. It was as awful as I figured it would be. I had a ton of food, the bags kept ripping, I couldn’t find the UPC codes, the case of water ripped open…there were people behind me waiting impatiently. I couldn’t figure out how to ring up an onion and the lady that was supposed to be helping at self check out was busy with a line of people so…I started cussing and panicking right in plain view. It was as bad as any job I ever had, the stress of doing it all and doing it quickly cos people were waiting. I did not handle myself with dignity, but then, who does when in a panic? I am all for anything that lessens my need to deal with other people but when it makes my life more frustrating…fuck your self checkouts, Wal-mart.

To my chagrin, my dad called on my one kid free night and asked if I’d go out to dinner with him since my brother was out with my nephew and stepmonster was out with nephew’s fiance. I was like a deer in headlights. Dad is a downer. Both my parents are cos they are so critial and dismissive of anything I say or feel. A counselor who met them described them as toxic and told me to limit contact for my own well being. And of course, there’s the whole ‘in the middle’ thing. It’s been 21 years since my parents split and yet they still put us in the middle so if we’re nice to mom, it irks dad, and if we’re nice to dad, mom thinks we’re sucking up to him.

My fatal flaw is, in spite of how rough around the edges I am, I really don’t want to offend or hurt people. Plus a free meal out…I was trying to convince myself dad’s not that bad…when he said, “I was going to ask your sister first but since she has your kid, I’m asking you.” Ha ha ha ha, second choice, as usual, feel the love. Oh, well. I went. He dragged me to some farm and home supply store. They had a live pig there named Curly Sue so while he looked for his redneck stuff, I spent twenty minutes talking to the pig. I am an animal person. Then we ate at Long John Silver’s and after, he took me for the same old cruise of the semi truck lot he used to cruise with us when we were little kids. Yay. I wish I could get excited for such things but…I can’t, it’s not my thing.

Saturday evening I curled up on the couch and watched Deception and For The People. Gotta say, I had my doubts about these Tv Free Way digital antennas but as long as you’re okay with 10 channels not of your choosing…they work like gangbusters. Everyone thought I had cable, the picture is so clear. I lucked out the day that dude left those at the shop cos they didn’t work with his analog tvs. Free stuff is always good and better when it actually works.

There was one scene on From The People where the two women were walking across the bridge in New York and I was just mesmerized by the lights and view…but I also felt my heart start pounding and my breath quicken because all that activity overwhelms me even from a TV set. That alone should give the professionals an indication how life altering my disorders are, even TV shows set me off. If only I had a therapy peacock…

Sunday I faced another daunting thing. I cooked and had my mom and sis and nephew and his gf come over to see the new place. I worked my butt off getting the place cleaned up and organized-ish. And it went well. Except for having to hear about how much Spook told them she hates it here. All the while she tells dad’s side she likes it. Kid is sheeple, she tells people what she thinks they want to here. She knows grandma doesn’t like it here, so she hates, but poppy does like it here, so she likes it. I don’t know what it’s like to be that malleable but it must suck.

Anyway…I survived it all. Downside, I was so exhausted physically and mentally, I went to bed at 8:30 last night and I slept hard and without any sleep meds. Dealing with stressful stuff tires me out quickly, I tend to hit a wall.But I have at least earned an E for effort.

So…I did ok aside from the cussing panicking meltdown at Walmart. When I go there, I need a therapy pet cobra to do my hissing and venomizing for me. Or…I could just never have to go there again.

I have a rich fantasy life.


Let’s talk about reaching out

Let’s talk about reaching out. More importantly my seemingly inability to do so. I have been in the social services profession for over half my life. My sole purpose is to be there when others reach out to me. I can attest to the relief it can bring for the other person. The so-called burden has an opportunity to be lifted by the very virtue of sharing with someone else. Releasing what’s typically rolling around in the “wrong neighborhood” of the mind can be cathartic.

Armed with this information and actually witnessing it to be true, you’d think I would jump at the chance to fill someone’s ear with my stuff. Not the case. Well, not entirely accurate. The idea of this prospect is wonderful. Unleashing the demons that constantly plague me would be so beneficial. But, knowing this is not enough. Speaking my truth is so scary and difficult, I prefer to hide behind my written words. I mean conveying my pain in some form or fashion is helpful. But, again, not enough. Realistically, some days all I’m able to do is furiously type on this computer and hope to be brave enough to send it out into cyberspace.

What is this fear? Fear of being a burden. Misunderstood. Unable to express what ails my mind, body and soul. The questions you might ask to clarify. Statements you might make to “help” me. Having to dive into deep shit I don’t know how or want to. Having to admit I have bipolar disorder and all the chaos it has created. The manic and depressive episodes that have rocked me to my core. Rocked my marriage possibly to its breaking point. Wanting to expel the details from my memory, but also not dredge up the pain it encompasses. Wondering if you could possibly understand. Or, maybe you do so much that I must then console you. What a selfish thought that is! Baggage I guess is part of the fear.

Just the other day I was quite distraught the whole day. Many many tears shed in the confines of my home. Well, and into the dark black fur of my kitty. Back to bed I went after 2 cups of coffee. I had received news the prior evening I did not get a job I felt highly qualified for. The interview had gone very well in my opinion. I even brought up a few ideas and sparked a discussion. Does it get better than that? I was able to speak to my weakness within the proposed position, but more so self myself as an asset. I recounted this experience to a few friends and they agreed it sounded positive. Case Management is in my bones, I told them. 15 years of direct experience..successful experience. Over 20 years in a social service delivery model in general. I could learn the “ins and outs” of the agency.

I suppose I could have picked up the phone that day and relayed my utter disappointment. But, I just couldn’t. We could argue didn’t or couldn’t. For me it was a could not. I sent out a few rushed texts. One to my husband and one to my brother. Both expressed sympathy, but just to move on to the next one. Typical advice. But, I’m not a typical person. I guess no one is. My bipolar brain was beating me up through and through. How does anyone know that if I don’t share? I keep it all locked inside. Tears fell on the couch and into the bedroom. My husband asked if I was crying as we nestled under the covers in the darkness. I said no. We both knew I was lying. I can’t share pain in the moment of pain. It feels physically impossible. My body will not let me. My mind won’t allow words to come out of my mouth. I just shutdown.

I have the opportunity to share my ups, downs and in- betweens with a woman who is willing to be my sponsor in AA. This equates to another human being willing to hear what ails my mind, body and soul. Can I lay down the walls and accept this possibility? Leave the baggage at the door and honor this for what it is..space to learn how to share myself. Space to learn about myself. Space to forgive myself.

Let’s face it. I don’t need space. I need connection. Honest emotional interaction. So, let’s talk about reaching out. How do you do it?


Why I Hate TV Drug Commercials

Just as a general rule, I dislike commercials for any drugs. They impede the doctor/patient relationship. (I’ve often considered saying to my doctor, “I’m supposed to ask you if Latuda, Humira, Prolia, Viberzi, Lunesta, Cialis, Trulia, Trintellix, Keytruda, and Boniva are right for me.”) TV – and to a lesser extent print – ads encourage people to act as unpaid drug reps. And they only advertise expensive drugs until they go generic, which is when they stop being expensive and the drug companies stop making so much money.

(If you want to read more on the issue, go to https://www.medicinenet.com/script/main/art.asp?articlekey=106198.)

But there are other things about TV drug ads that make me more than a little cranky. Like where are the ads for drugs to treat bipolar disorder?

Oh, there are ads for drugs to treat bipolar depression, as well as ones for treating non-bipolar depression. You’d think that with approximately 2.8 million people who have bipolar in the U.S. and Canada (http://www.pendulum.org/bpfacts.html), there would be a market for bipolar treatments.

Also, the ads for depression treatments don’t always get it right. A few of them say that depression is more than just sadness, or that it lasts for several weeks at least. One even says that depression is a “tangle” of symptoms, which is certainly true. (Although the tangle is shown graphically in primary red, yellow, and blue, which don’t really say “depression” to me.)

Most, however, treat depression simplistically, with hidden depression represented by a smiley face mask hiding a frowny face mask. (The colors in that ad are muted during the “before” scenes and more vibrant during the “after” scenes, which is an old advertising trick.)

The ads also make it look like the most important thing about depression is not spending time with your family or not enjoying it if you do. While that certainly is one symptom of depression, it is by-and-large irrelevant to people like me, who don’t have 2.1 school-age children to take on picnics. And it’s pretty much a guilt trip for people who do.

Then there’s how the people in the ads are represented. Oh, they almost always show one POC and one slightly older person (frolicking with the grandkids). But all of them are attractive. All of them are models. Are we supposed to identify with them? Or just expect to look like them when our depression lifts?

I wouldn’t be so annoyed by this issue if it weren’t that ads for other kinds of drugs – those for psoriasis and diabetes, for example – have actual people with the disorder in them. Testimonials from those who’ve been there, as it were. Even real-life cancer patients are now featured in ads for treatment centers.

What’s up with that, I wonder? Surely they don’t imagine that only pretty people get depression or bipolar. It can’t be that they can’t find any well-spoken, real-life people who can relate their own experiences. I for one would feel more reassured if I heard about a treatment from someone who’s lived with the disorder instead of from someone selected at a casting call. Are we all homely and illiterate? (I meet the qualification for literacy, at any rate.)

Instead of trying to convince us what medications our doctors might prescribe us, the airtime would be better spent on ads that educated the public on depression and bipolar disorder. But those would be PSAs, of course, appear only at 3:00 a.m., and not make anyone any money.

Update: I have finally seen an ad for a drug to treat bipolar 1 mania. Everything else I wrote here remains the same.


The Help Us Keep Our Power On And Get Trash Service Fundraiser

It was brought to my attention that my fundraiser links weren’t working. Not exactly shocking, I’m using a stupid phone (stupid smart phone, oxymoron?) and I get everything all garbled.

Anyway…this is the working link.

Share, repost, donate- whatever help you’re willing to give…Spook and I are grateful because this situation is distressing. More distressing is the fact that the move was forced on us, otherwise we wouldn’t be in over our heads because we live within our means.


In too Deep

In deep
And deep within
Depression and my mind
Thick as thieves
The darkness descends
Although it never really leaves
Crawled out of this tired bed
Into the cold blank shower
No scrub can rid me of this filth
Rubbing my face senseless
So a new mug could appear
Happy joyous and free
A smile without fear
As the fog cleared
And the mirror spoke
All I know is
I can’t steer this sinking ship
Rain drops outside
Tear drops inside
The nature of thy mother
Quietly taking shape
Lifeless and Breathless
I sit and wait
For whatever god that may cherish me
To remove this deadly disease
Before It
Decides my fate