am i living here?

When we met I was dipped in tragedy  and wrapped in remote solace. With a cherry on top of course. Now in my brief intermission of objective perspective I find I have the same reservations. Is this where I begin? Or should I start with when? I told my daddy I loved him and he told me to go to bed. I told my mother I wish I was dead, she held her head. When grandpa died, I pinched him so hard my fingers bled. I don’t remember much from my childhood and I’m not sure I want to, yet everyone else seems to think it’s important. So every week I’m sitting on a blue sofa searching for what went wrong but it’s me, I’m what’s wrong. My mind is a dialectical coin constantly flipping and where it lands isn’t up to me but I have the solution to stop it. I have the same clarity I had one fateful afternoon ten years ago, right around this time. Summer solstice you’re a gentle reminder of what I failed to do, what a poor planner I  was. Now I have insight and insurmountable suffering. Pair this with proving to be a disappointment to you all and I’m left with grit and fortitude to finish what I started a decade ago. Am I living here? Yes but the reason is unbeknownst to me. 

Everyone here is exhausted with me. I am not offended, it feels good to have a break, to have some distance. Ketamine kisses have shown me a lonesome future, but it’s okay. I see my books, my pen and Paris. I awake from my drug induced slumber and I’m in a sterile medical office and suddenly I’m reminded of my reality: I’m a  big time bummer, I’m a loser. So I make my way home and crawl into bed. Time to self medicate and drift off to oblivion but it’s no use. My old tricks don’t work the way they did before, back when I played it fast and loose. I ran the red lights and stood on the bridge at two in the morning and laughed at the stars while the fog consumed me. Is that what it meant to feel free? Now I’m scared to leave the house, my words escape me and I don’t remember yours and the wheel trembles from my tremors so I pull over and hang my head. Is this the existence you all wish for me? Am I living here? Yes, but my real estate has no value and I’m headed for the auction house. 

I take my meds and I’m cold all of the time. One, two, three, four, five, six and so on and so forth. I live my life in shortcuts and quick fixes. I just need to get through the day. I’ve learned early on that my mind is an unreliable source much like a Wikipedia page that anyone can alter as they see fit and I would believe anything you wrote about me. My memories are unreliable so my past and present can be edited as anyone sees fit. My brain will never change. Interventions can help abate symptoms and delusions but in my day to day life my condition will always have some control. What an interesting revelation. To have a fatal disorder, well not one but two which are both compounded with disillusion, delusion and chaos but also a quiet and isolating existence yet each will inevitably shave years off my life. And it feels like they already have. After revelation comes acceptance and then resolution. Am I living here? No but I couldn’t live elsewhere either.