Tardive Dyskinesia
Updated: Dec 29, 2019
drip drip drip
a rusty pipe from my tail bone up to my skull, holds together my ragged muscles,
my nerve endings flowering out in vibrant and varying painful colors
searing, aching, corny romantic - spur of the moment
just trying to spice up the relationship type
pain
drip drip drip
I grab a towel, to wipe up as much as I can.
as always I sleep it off, but I wake up in a puddle
of blaring reminders, soaked and heavy before I even lift my covers
“YOU’RE NOT WELL.”
You’re sick.
So I sit shivering
Drip
What’s that smell?
drip
it’s burning, rotting
like melting flesh, but somehow
worse
I look down to see a flickering dim, rose colored light on the left side of my chest.
My skin papery, sad, holding on at best
Drip
body, I've caught you packing
why even pretend?
I catch myself begging
I'll try harder.
“Try,” a word motivational coaches loath, and my journal seems to be spitting out lately,
overloaded, cranky, bored
of the stale, tasteless word
I start to sweat and my feet haven’t even left my bed,
yet I swear I can feel the collective bad of the 6am insomniacs slipping
into my head.
I get up, tie my shoes and I run. I run like hell. through the grey
suburban streets mirroring
my eyes
But I’m not fast enough.
I leave a trail of rose petals, in case the old me starts to catch up and
will somehow understand I'm still trying to reach her
I’m gaining some momentum when
I’m stopped by the train beam going down, a rumbling in the distance
and right on cue, my muscles follow suit
damn copy cats
just for attention my left shoulder blade does a dance, my toes curl under for cover, my head and my tongue try to become one, and now I have an entire Russian ballet
jumping and spinning
within my body, cold,
calculating, efficient
invisible torment
shredding up any sense of peace I have left
I stand there, this dance happening on top of my tattered nerves
a man in a pick up truck whistles and laughs with his 3 friends. they honk and yell, “Bitch!” because I don’t look their way.
drip drip drip
something still doesn’t smell right.
a woman lights a cigarette next to me, everything goes white, and I
realize I’ve gone up in flames
I walk home out-blinding the sun, nobody seems to notice
any part of me
left withering up, and falling to ash.
I make it to my door right in time to grab a needle and some thread
I stitch sloppily, fast, panicked
leaking gasoline
I manage to piece together any me I have left.
it looks bad, and I go to bed
#tardivedyskinesia #tardivedystonia #antipsychotics #chronicpain