Seeing Colors

Over the past few months, after months of contemplation, I decided five years was plenty.

Though, I think it was more than six—6 years, since my first rendezvous with Paxil, Celexa, Metoprolol, and the like. Those days, I needed control…

Insert Grad School

A Glorified Hobby

My Masterpiece

Nonetheless, I gradually discovered,

This world sucks when it’s always grey…

Mother-Fucking-Grey

Painting my nails black was a fanciful control over my mood,

Without contemplation.

The control hypocritical.

As if i had something left to lose

There was nothing left to mourn

*

Today, they’re naked

No top coat

No buffers

Only cracked, keratin cells

Unquenched

Uncertain

*

Today

I’ve been off of my 200mg off Zoloft for 8 weeks.

Off the Buspar for 10

*

I took my last 1/2, .5mg Xanax, on a Bumble, first date,

A week back—inconsequential;

A Sunday, at a coffee shop, with an atheist

I couldn’t reconcile

Haven’t reconciled

With my life.

*

I feel so different, today….

*

I started writing this post 8 weeks ago,

Updating, at times thinking

nearly done

*

Sure, it’s still fairly grey

Of course, I’m still fucked up

*

But it’s me, fucked up

*

Smiling, fucked up

Altered, enough

Content, fucked up.

*

Today, Trump is still… mother-fucking…

President.

And I intend,

On giving myself a pedicure.

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