It’s hard to explain the isolation

Particularly when looking into his eyes.

If only to tell him that it’s ok not to understand.


Surrounded, as I so often am, with those who want to love me,

and watching from the rocky surface, cool steel my only companion,

Is intrinsically wrong.

That’s where I feel the separation in my mind,

the near panic of the unknown,

Embraced on all sides by the ones who love me,

but can never understand.



My mind encompassed by the desolation of an alien landscape,

I gaze longingly through the lens of my only accompaniment,

waiting for it to shed light on the connection I desire almost hungrily.


And he wants to understand.

He wants to ease my burden,

it’s etched in the lines of his face,

The yearning to lift me up, to help when all I can do is sit next to him.


And that’s all I can do,

Occupy a space in the physical because I can’t reach anything else.

I don’t remember when detaching served me,

But I am sure it some point it must have.

It just isn’t an acceptable coping mechanism.

I need to be connected to the world,

I draw my strength from it.


It’s been a pretty good week. I remembered to shower at least once,

I go to work when I am supposed to be there,

I’m remembering to eat three times a day.

I am struggling to find purpose and meaning most days.

I love my husband, he keeps me stronger than I would be,

But I can’t feel close.

I don’t know what’s going on these days,

Hazy, removed, I’m going to work when I am supposed to.


Sometimes I just don’t want to wake up.

I wouldn’t end my own life, that takes too much effort,

But I am tired.


Right now I am eating soup and tacos,

it’s the first time I have really wanted to eat something today,

and bonus, it’s stuff from my own pantry.

There was a mass shooting in California this afternoon,

and I don’t know if it’s depression or desensitization that is holding any reaction at bay.


This disorder alienates me by it’s very nature.

And still, I am alone.

2 thoughts on “Meh

  1. In the short term, anger lifts depression – and God knows, there’s plenty to be angry about in the world today, including that shooting. An angry poem, maybe, forcing yourself to find the rage? (Yes I know, I’m responding to the content, not the poetics. Your poetry is always white-hot and always moves me.)

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