It’s almost been a year
since my last panic attack.
It was in a bathroom;
your birthday party.
You told me not to go
then like most of our time together,
changed your mind at the last minute,
wanting me there.
For a bit.
We’ve spoken twice since.
I used to write about you a lot
and I’d be lying if I said
you didn’t cross my mind sometimes,
often still wondering
what I did wrong.
What it was that made me feel like
I was doing wrong.
How those nights spent alone
sometimes reflect the nights of now.
Last night I dreamed about him,
as I do frequently.
Not like the poem
but like the real life
story of us.
This was a nightmare
and he left me like you did
so when I woke up to
I almost believed it.
It’s been almost a year since my diagnostic.
I’m on a different pill now.
One that feels like it’s unbalancing me
cause I’ve been bleeding for almost a week.
But it’s not blood,
it’s tears and loneliness and my head
Anyone have a plunger?
It’s been almost a year.
I have him now
and I have more voices now
not all of them bad.
The mirror even starts liking me
He makes me feel seen
and when we’re together
on those first date picnic days
it’s hard to believe almost a year ago
I almost didn’t make it.
It’s almost been three years since you left,
though for two you stuck around
and used me.
Undressed me but didn’t kiss me.
Called me but didn’t listen to me.
Needed me but didn’t want me.
Wanted me but didn’t need me.
Same thing, huh?
It’s been almost a year since I first found him.
Stumbling after swiping right,
I found his blog.
I made my own.
Here we are.
Just plain, usually medicated, me.