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
Nonetheless, I gradually discovered,
This world sucks when it’s always grey…
Painting my nails black was a fanciful control over my mood,
The control hypocritical.
As if i had something left to lose
There was nothing left to mourn
Today, they’re naked
No top coat
Only cracked, keratin cells
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
With my life.
I feel so different, today….
I started writing this post 8 weeks ago,
Updating, at times thinking
Sure, it’s still fairly grey
Of course, I’m still fucked up
But it’s me, fucked up
Smiling, fucked up
Content, fucked up.
Today, Trump is still… mother-fucking…
And I intend,
On giving myself a pedicure.