10.13.2012

poem: psyche eval

well, hello there!

I know, it's been a while. in all honesty I have been insanely and intensely busy - between working my regular full-time job and then almost working full-time at my second part-time job and doing the yoga teacher training program and then like everything else in life, I have little time for blogging. there have been many times when I've wanted to sit and write - if for nothing else just to do the practice of it. but also to update you on everything that has been going on in terms of my mental and spiritual health. right now, though, I am exhausted. I spent thursday and friday of this week joyously skipping through the geraldine dodge poetry festival (something I want to write about) and then yesterday evening and all day today at my yoga teacher training. but I've had this poem in my head for the past few days and just had to set it free. I'm quite pleased with it, and since it is ample time that I shared something, I figured this was perfect timing. I hope you enjoy.


***


psyche eval


it’s not so much
that I walked in
wanting to taper off
and walked out
with a new script
for a drug
that boasts
its ability
to make users
suicidal.

and it’s not so much
that she asked me
if I had one hundred dollars
and then spent seven
how much would I have left?
and then asked
if I spent seven more
how much would I have then –
the latter of which
I struggled to answer.

it’s not even how
she stole
two hours
of my existence.

but instead
it is how
she asked me to remember
three simple
things
that she would later ask me to recite
from memory.

actually,
no.
it is not that either.
it is that she did not ask me to recall them,
even after I repeated them in my mind
over and over
while she was talking to me
about things I don’t know
because I wasn’t listening
because I was reciting
the three things
over
and over
and over
again
so that when I was called upon
I would be able to tell her
so she would not think
I was crazy.
so she would not think
I needed those drugs.
so she would not think
I was something less.

maybe it is not
so much that she didn’t ask
me to recall them
that makes my now
informally diagnosed
bipolar brain
feel itchy with static.
but how
for the three days since
I have been repeating
those things still:

blue hat.
twenty-four chestnut street.
red camaro.