Can Someone Please Call in My Effexor?

Really, really terrible steam of consciousness, depresso poetry #2

TRIGGER WARNING

Not sure if I should post this one. Mouth of madness. I’m fine. Just had a rough conversation with myself and then struggled to re-regulate. Back to normal now.

Ultimately, this is the journey and maybe people can benefit? Who knows, maybe someday someone finds their way to this through some bit of insane coincidence and it helps them.

Can Someone Please Call in My Effexor

I want to smoke 8,000 cigarettes
I don’t want anyone to see me
I can’t get to the door, or will I?
Will they ask questions?
I can’t talk No one can ever hear it
I had a dream
There was a field it was a sunny day
The air was cool
The grass was tall but manageable. It didn’t itch this time
It always itches. Everything itches
My body is on fire and contracting and contorting
I want to fold into a smaller and smaller ball until I disappear
No one else needs to see. I do.
I feel like a fake human being
I feel like my life is an act, but I don’t control it
Why do I feel this way? Why else would anyone be like me?
Who behaves this way? Who thinks like this? Why does my mind feel so fake?
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I cried and then I squirmed like I was having a fucking exorcism
I can’t scream because my pillows do a shitty job of containing it.
Too much risk. No one can hear. I don’t want to talk about it.
I am a fake human. I have to be. No other way.
I don’t want anyone to know. They can’t know. They’ll never understand.
Do I really have to keep being me?
Who am I? Who have I ever been? Who was real and who are any of you?
Remember when I could function? It wasn’t that long ago.
You’re not losing your mind. This is normal. I guess…
Can you get hit by a train in your bedroom at night?
Doesn’t sound so bad.
Can someone call in that Effexor please?