As I move on
from my haunting past,
I learn to breathe again.
From thoughts of suicide
and the horrid escalation
to attempting it, I survived.
November, 2018
was the worst month of my life,
devastating it is to almost die.
Liberating it was afterwards,
when I spent months hospitalized,
stabilizing, starting over.
But not all has changed for the better.
Some aspects of my life
remain unchanged and stagnate.
Writing, music and sex
are the big three in my life
that make me feel somewhat normal.
But like medication,
it comes in doses only
then wears off.
And then I need another dose
of any of the big three,
and then, I can persevere…
(Scoffs) Persevere,
a term well-known to me,
yet, unknown to me.
But I’m alive.
Though suffering,
I am alive.
Still among the living,
not young in the grave,
still writing, listening and fucking.
Whatever it takes!
I’ll make do with what I can salvage
of a life that was dealt bad cards by God.
Unmedicated,
save for lorazapagm,
to treat debilitating anxiety.
A dual diagnosis,
of schizoaffective disorder
and bipolar disorder.
Reader, please believe me when I say,
I would rather be suffering
from a terrible medical diagnosis,
as opposed to what I have.
Whether it be cancer, paralyzation,
blindess, deafness or anything else!
Learning to breathe again, I will!
The breath of quality of life,
maybe, just maybe, I can make it.
So, upon finishing this emotional spill,
I will conclude that I will reach out
to crisis, and once again preserve my life.
Powerfully penned, Daniel. That’s a tough one my friend, I have anxiety, depression, and was an alcoholic. It’s not the same as what you’re going through. But I do know how it feels to be in the trenches fighting for sanity and hope. Thanks for sharing. Appreciate you.
Damian