Death of an Interior Designer

It's all I can do 
to keep from falling apart.


But not really,
because I still
fall apart
on a nearly constant 
basis. 


Spending another day
in a hospital was
not good.


Being asked
"Do you feel 
like you want to 
hurt yourself
or others?"
too many times
was not good either.


Because I don't.
I just want to 
go to bed
and wake up 
feeling like I am
a real person again.
Like I am me.


I forget who I am
everyday.
It's a guessing game-
do I like this? 
Do I say this?
Is this me?
I forget.
Because I have not felt
like Audrey
in three months.


And I'm sorry
I appear to be ripping
apart absolutely everything
in my life.
But I really can't help it.
I can't even keep myself glued
together anymore.


I saw two doctors
and a social worker.
Two nurses.


And I felt like
maybe something
happened.
I walked out
with a prescription
and some phone numbers.


Maybe I can stop
feeling so out of control
and so worthless and helpless
long enough to 
feel good for a day or two again.


Maybe I'll be able to sleep
tonight
without panicking.


Maybe I'll be able to 
go to school tomorrow.


Maybe I'll learn
how to function again.
Maybe I'll be a real person
again.


But I'm not getting my hopes
up. Because I've done that before,
and nothing is better.


And you can leave me alone,
I don't really care.
Do whatever you have to do
for whoever or whatever
or yourself.


I just can't really keep
feeling guilty for when everyone
else feels bad.


Because I am too damn
close to the edge
to keep walking.