How do you get through seven more hours of work
when all you can think about is walking out the door?
I stand up
pick up my purse
walk down the stairs
(waiting for the elevator allows too much time for questions)
cross the foyer
out the door
cross the parking lot
get in my car
back up
put it in drive
right
left
right out of the parking lot
up the freeway
through the city
straight into my parking spot.
And then it's just a short walk to the bed.
I could give up
move home
live in the basement.
Paint.
Sleep.
Whatever.
When would I get sick of it?
When would it swell up enough
to be unbearable?
Would I get a retail job?
Would I get married?
What will make this go away?
Medication?
Counseling?
Exercise?
Love?
Sleep
Food
Lies
they aren't working anymore.
I can't sit here anymore.
Is there
any
more?
People can see it in my face.
Yesterday was full of "are you okay"s.
I just got another one
as I plastered a smile on my face
not two minutes ago.
I have no color.
I have no substance.
there's nothing in there
and people are starting to see it.
What do I do?
I don't know what to do.
Some things are real.
My photography is real.
My love of art is real.
My mind is real.
My thoughts are real.
This panic is real.
But my voice is fake.
The words I am saying with my mouth
they are fake.
Everyone can hear it.
I can hear it.
It's screaming every time I say something.
Every time I say "Fine!
Thanks for asking!"
Every time I say "This is Jill
how can I
help
you."
Help you?
What about me?
I have to leave.
Because it's written all over my face.
And when someone I care about asks me how I am
and I can only use this voice to say I'm fine
they'll know.
Oh my God, people can't know.
Because I don't even know.
