life now

I’m not brave, not on days like today when the skies send water sluicing down my dirty windows and the fury inside me sets the panic racing in my heart. I try to take care of myself: clean my teeth meticulously, eat three times a day, take my medication and supplements, wander the streets until I am exhausted and can sleep. My life is chopped up into month-long cycles that begin and end with a bleed.

It’s been this way since Molly died. Juggling pregnancy loss, infertility, and mental illness is no easy feat for a hysterical child-woman such as myself. I always told myself that after I had a baby (for I was once somewhat optimistic), I would get back on my therapeutic medication doses and be my old self again. I mean, I went years and years without having any sort of episode and had a life full of loving people to pull me through my short-lived bouts of anxiety, or infrequent mild hypomanias and depressions. Two years since losing her and with the help of a psychiatrist/ obstetrician and I’m practically back to the same medications I was on during this golden age. But this time it’s not working. Somehow I’ve ended up fucked.

It’s the grief, I know it is. This burden crushing down on my shoulders as I find solace in the rhythm of my feet on pavement and feel the rain on my face. I hear her name on the wind, Molly, Molly, Molly, and not even for a single second can I ever forget.


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