Taking Pills for Anxiety

It is the middle of the winter of the heart,

or it is summer -- I am never quite sure.

                - Marvin Bell

So the pills began, and I walk forward

into the next day doing what?

Hiding upstairs in the bedroom, door closed,

fearing my daughters, with their singing,

their stomping footsteps, their drama and dreams.

My wife with her fears, and her love of dogs.

The dog and the cat, who only want love.  

I crave my silence and quiet, like a terrarium,

glass walls protecting me invisibly.

Please don’t let them see me. Promise to stay out.

Promising, promising.

That’s all I want.

But the pills, the pills! Rekindling happiness

at the cost of impotency, hair, some blood, spirit.

The endocrine rain dance of medicine. To feel less and more,

like ice becoming snow, becoming melt water.

It’s all something else --

this is not the thing that will cause the world to raise up

like a tidal wave of daylight and lead the Light Brigade to victory at last, unquestioningly:

confident, proud like lions.

It is one more dark sidestreet that may lead to yet a different, longer way home,

even though home is frightening.

Even though home is where all falls to pieces,

and I’m left with my little pile of ashes upstairs.

My wife brings me dinner in bed

because she’s afraid I won’t eat, too afraid

to come down the stairs and become part. I’d starve

before I could give a kind word, or a touch.

So do I walk forward into the closet again,

surrounded by the old slacks,

flannel shirts and robes too threadbare to wear, but safe?

No one can ever think anything of anyone who isn’t seen by anybody.

Author's Note

NOPE - this one needs a lot of work. Even POSTING it I see that its not the poem it's supposed to be. I'm actually considering cutting everything before endocrine rain dance of medicine.

Reviews

[KT-B]

Hi I liked your poem it is a great depiction of what anxiety is like for so many and the very start you say you don't know if it is summer or winter in your heart, that is what it is like for many where the anxiety is so numbing it kills enjoyment in anything, such a relevant subject sadly -- best wishes

[mattavelli]

Hello, Conor! :)
I enjoyed your story. The melting snow is a strong description. I think you got the wrong prescription. Haha