Fresh Hell

The coffee is jumping inside of me
or maybe that’s just my own hormones
something is jumping inside of me
it’s leaping and touching the ceiling.

Yesterday it dragged the floor.
It sure is nice to have emotions again
dulce et decorum est
to have emotions again

I wonder who is talking
through my head
through my hands

I speak up at work now
everyone tells me how friendly I am
how welcoming
they appreciate my vocalness
I am well liked by my peers
well
that’s good
I guess.
I still have little anxieties
I used to have big anxieties
so that’s better.
I’m writing another novel
aren’t we proud?
I ran two miles
it hurt a little
but not much
I got all my shit together.
all. my. shit. together.

the cat desperately tries to crawl on my lap
and I write with one hand
desperately trying to keep him off my keyboard

all
my
shit
together

So why is this knot in my stomach?
Why is my hair falling out?
Why do I spend my days in industry,
To hide from the nights
in darkness?

I’m feeling much better.
I’ve got it all under control.
Don’t worry about me.
I used to be worse, much worse.
It’s nice to have feelings again.
I spent a whole year with no ups or downs
creatively, emotionally, just…
empty.
And I asked myself,
Is this happiness?

Now I feel again
I’m getting things done
more than ever
trying to squash the anxiety in my chest, in my belly
running from the depression
breathing through the mania
and I ask myself
Is this happiness??

Don’t worry about me.
I’m fine.
I’ve been here before.
Lower, higher, much worse, much better, too much better.
I’m probably just at normal human levels now.
Is that
What happiness is?

Maybe happiness can only be found
in others.
Writing gives me a feeling of completion
of working towards my life ambitions
being who I should be.
People give me that oxytocin boost
linked in love
I’ve invested myself in people this year
now I know what they mean
now I know what they do for me
and how much I need them.
Is that
What happiness is?

Maybe asking
is asking
for trouble.

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