Recovering(?) Problem Child

Original Poetry by Niles Flynn

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Visits

I dreamed about you

again last night,

maybe you were checking in on me.

It was so comfortable in your arms.

I think I love you too much—

so much so

I forget how much I hate myself.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Guilt Trip

I remember last time

I told you—

my lifeline—

that I wanted to end it all

and you made me feel

guilty for how much it'd hurt you.

Now I've been feeling

that way again

and I can't tell anyone

because of you and your

guilt trip.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

My problem with making new friends

is that I'm afraid

I'll outwear my welcome

if I relax around you—

I spend my days waiting

for the other shoe to drop

thanks to abuse

I don't like labeling

for what it is because

it's so ingrained in me

that someone somewhere

had it worse.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Lavender

They say lavender

is good for anxiety

but lavender is the scent

of my mother's favorite perfume

and now I have to explain

why you're plan

to help ease my anxiety

is only making me worse.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Dream

I dream about you

sometimes,

and miss you

sometimes,

but that's the only place

I ever saw you.

I'm waiting for you

to come home to me

when we've never really met.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Distance

I've learned recently

the value of friends,

just in time for me

to be moving far away

and I'm afraid texting

won't be enough

to keep in touch

when I'm not good

about reaching out.

You're a tornado

with pretty eyes and a pulse

and I sometimes find you

so very exasperating,

but I don't want to lose you

to distance

when you feel like my other half.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Suicide Note

I wrote a suicide note

when I was younger.

I don't remember much

of the exact contents,

but I remember the anger

and frustration I'd felt

about having my choice

taken away

that drove me to write it.

I hadn't planned to leave

any note at all before that,

didn't care how that might effect

those around me

if it did at all.

…

I think if I were to write

a similar note now,

it'd say only this:

I'm so tired,

I just want to close my eyes

forever.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

In between

the long expanses of apathy,

I feel too much;

too much or nothing at all,

but none of it shows

through the mask I learned to wear

to protect myself so long ago

it may as well be

my real face.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

I slipped too far

into the depressive apathy

without the help

of chemically induced

serotonin,

norepinephrine

and dopamine.

I'm not sure if I

simply didn't notice the decline

while I was medicated

even with my bad days

or if being medicated

killed my level of functionality

because I was no longer adapted

to every day being a bad day

with worse days sometimes mixed in

anymore.

Either way

I find my love for anything

slipping through my fingers

and lately the writing

that came to me as easily

as oxygen in my lungs

—which is to say not easily at all,

but necessary for my continued existence—

is not coming at all.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Strength

It made me stronger,

I always tell myself,

as if to erase the part of me

that knows children

are meant to be safe,

not strong

—not like that.

…

Now I don't know

how safe feels.

[nilesflynn]

Crayons

Before the apathy,

I was a ball of pent up

homicidal rage;

the only thing that held me back

was a severe phobia of being caged

because I know there's no such thing

as the perfect crime.

Sometimes I'd still dream of death.

Other times

I'd dream of a padded room

and a strait jacket

with a sign over the window:

Do not give this person

anything sharper than a crayon,

but I read it in reverse

noyarc a naht reprahs gnihtyna

nosrep siht evig ton oD.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Absquatulate

I've lived so long

together with you

that an Irish goodbye

doesn't feel right

but somehow

I can't bring myself

to look at you

so soon after realizing

that I've been alone

in this house for years.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Happy Endings

I did not grow up

on stories with happy endings,

I grew up on Grimms Fairy Tales

and Twilight Zone

and X-Files—

I learned very young

that oftentimes the end

is unsatisfactory

with loose ends left hanging.

I know some people

simply aren't built for happy endings,

or at least not traditional ones,

but it took me 25 years

to really accept

that I don't even know

where to begin

to find the sort of happy ending

meant for me...

I've been so long without happiness,

I'm not even sure

I remember how it feels.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Pain is,

in my experience,

one of the few things

that gets better with time,

things that once felt so big—

like the end of the world

don't seem hurt so much

anymore.

They get replaced with other things

of course—

Hell,

the damn things overlap

more often than not,

but I keep telling myself

this too will fade.

One day,

maybe I won't miss you so much,

maybe the pain of being left behind

will fade

and all that will remain

is the echo of the love I feel for you now

without the resentment undertone.

Maybe then it won't taste

so bittersweet

to remember you.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Deep Waters

I live in deep waters.

The depth varies from day to day:

sometimes I spend so long

treading water

I start to think it'd be easier

to just let myself drown,

other days I think

I can sort of reach the bottom

if I really stretch for it,

even if it's too dark and murky

to see,

and other days

I almost believe the current

takes pity on me

and carries me to the shallows

where I can rest for a little while

before I'm inevitably

drawn back in.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Scars

Most of my scars

are of the psychological variety,

post trauma effects

I feel wrong labeling

for what they are,

hyper vigilance

that feeds on my already high

levels of paranoia,

the flinch away at every touch,

the walls I build

between myself and other people.

They say time heals all wounds

but they don't tell you

some scars—

the really bad ones

never fade completely,

even if all that remains one day

is the ache on a rainy day.

[recoveringproblemchild13]

Death

Death is a fickle thing.

Sometimes it hits you

like a tonne of bricks

as soon as you get the news,

sometimes it waits

for the funeral,

and other times

it doesn't really hit you

for months—

years even,

not until you're doing

something little

that used to involve them somehow

and suddenly you can't breath

with the pain of that loss.