Monday: bipolar support group

Fri, 10/19/2018 - 21:49 -- kay na

There is an oval,

of reasonably sick people sitting in room 121

You can feel the disease melting off our faces and onto the floor

People from each generation

Ages ranging from 20-80

This is our last destination

 

Maybe our therapist recommended us,

a doctor’s order, court order

Maybe we’re just all lost and sick

Very sick

And there’s nowhere else to run, not even home

So the train stops here

 

The room pauses every once in awhile

switching the discussion

Father and son sit side by side

Guiding each other through recovery

Sitting it out

Son talks

about how it took him 36 times

driving to the Home Depot parking lot

staring at the front doors before he could sum up the courage to walk in

he says “it’s a whole ‘nother process for Lowes”

 

I do not know if I will ever see these people again

But in these moments

We all sit in an awkardly shaped oval of plastic chairs

People began to leave before we were halfway done

Shows our commitment skills and how scared we are

So scared

 

There was nowhere else to run

and the sickness continues to melt off our faces onto the floor

But we’re no longer alone

No longer alone.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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