Doctor's appointment poem

[carose59]

Solar-powered,
Without a sun


Nothing is wrong.

How many times have I said that?

Nothing is wrong. I can see that, hear it, taste it.
Nothing is wrong. I just can’t


There are people to talk to, and I talk to them successfully.
I cause no problems,
I make no waves.
I smile, I’m pleasant,
and I follow to the room I’m asked to follow to.


I’m amusing and obedient and I don’t complain.
I follow instructions.
I’m a very good patient.
The doctor clearly likes me.
I answer his questions with only the slightest hesitations,
no sign of awkwardness, or uncertainty, or how lost I feel.
Are these the right answers?
Here, let me tell you a story.


Out in the car, I cry.
Not long, not hard, not enough.

I was supposed to go on a car errand, but

talking to people
smiling,
being pleasant,
understanding what’s needed from me—
simple things everybody understands, I just can’t

I just can’t.
Not car questions.

For over half my life there was someone I could just be in front of:
cranky, silent, confused, difficult.
I could not remember, and misremember, and make things up.
And not be amusing?
Sometimes.

I could take off the mask that isn’t a mask,
lie in the warm rays of my sun,
recharge.

It was all right when my mind was blank,
when I needed to cry to answer the hard questions:
date of birth, mother’s maiden name, who are you?

I could dissolve into a puddle of tears,
solidify in the warm rays of my sun,
stand to face another day.


It has been now raining for ten years, eleven months, seven days.
I have no sun.
I don’t know how long, how many miles, when was the last time.
The last thing I remember is waking up alone.

Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.