Welcome to the Working Week

I feel so weak.

What is wrong with me?

In the Backseat

11:27 am
EST
Monday.
January 30, 2012


I felt like I was
pulling a Craig Gilner.


In the car.
In silence.
On my way to 
an ER.


Later.


Wearing a 
hospital gown 
and a barcoded wristband.
Talking to a frumpy
social worker
who was not helping.


Earlier.
Talking to a 
medical student.
Nikita.
She was sweet,
I would have told her 
everything.


They ask
you questions.
A panel 
just like they ask
everyone else.


It doesn't mean much.
They rephrase
the question they
hope you don't 
say 'yes' to.
So they don't
have to admit
you.
Put you up in a room
for your own safety.


I said no.
Because 'no' is
the truth.
And now I can be home.


I got angry.
And I think it helped.
I think I'm going to be
alright.


My mother called Helpline this morning.


One of my teachers called
my mother this morning.

Feel Like Myself

That nagging
sadness, insistent
in the back of your head.


It doesn't die.


It's so persistent.


I don't want to 
be this.


This is not who I am.

Don't Leave the Light On Baby

I hope this is the end
of something.


I hope things change.


Everyday we are new.


I want so badly to 
wake up and understand.


I want to take a walk at night
and feel good.


I need these thoughts
to stop. I need to get some sleep.


And I'm going to try not
to cry anymore today,
and to get some sleep
and to not wake up and
feel alone and trapped.


I don't want to have
to call someone at 3 
in the morning
because I am scared.


I can't do this 
anymore.


Something
must be changed.
Something
must be done.

Janglin

You know there's a problem
when you sit 
fully clothed
in your bathtub
and 
whisper softly softly
slowly
"I cannot do this
anymore".


But you don't know how
to change 




anything.

Stay Loose

The Pledge

My little brother comes home
and pulls a test out of his bookbag.


He didn't do so well on it.


And this kid, he beats himself up.
He gets anxious and worries and
makes himself sad. 


It's horrible.


He's 9. He has better things
to do than make himself
sick with anxiety
(that's my job). 


So he gets sad and he cries.
He studied. Hard. I watched,
I tried to help.
He knew what he was doing.
But he gets test anxiety,
and some things were not
on the study guide he was 
given. 


My parents
can't really 
communicate.
At all.
Especially not
with matters involving
the greater scheme
of life.


They are faulty in their phrasing,
weak in their consolation
and consultation.


So I talked to him.
(It was like one
of the bonding scenes
straight outta Hollywood, folks)


We both ended up crying, actually.
Because we're so similar- we
get worked up and stressed out
about school.


I tried to give him perspective.
He's good at other things,
he works hard,
he really actually knows 
what he's talking about.


He's a good guy.
And I believe in his ability.
He needs to know someone does.
He needs some more support.


We talked for a while,
I tried to tell him
that life is bigger
than tests in school.
That he is not a horrible person,
that he is smart and will
do ok in life.
He has other strengths,
and things come with time.


Then I hugged him
and we tried to stop crying
and return to our 
normally scheduled lives.