Until that day comes

Mental illness is a disease just the same as any other except you may not see blood or bruises and broken bones, in fact you may not see anything at but that does not mean that the wounds are not there because they do exist and sometimes they are wounds that will never heal.

Until that day comes.

I woke up one day not to long
ago feeling as if maybe I was
coming down with something
just feeling different from the
day before and all of those days
before that, it was a feeling of
being nauseated and I was a
little bit colder and a lot more
lonely than I had ever felt, I could
feel my heart beating yet I could
tell that it was off not the same
rhythm that had always beat before
and my soul was not as talkative
mumbling quietly to itself unlike
usual as it was not whispering
secrets well at least not out loud
anymore, I am not really sure what
is going on with me but it was
coming from somewhere deep
down inside, I could not exactly
pin it quite down but I knew that
something has changed from
who it was I used to be to who I
am today, it feels as if I am maybe
missing a little piece of me which
may have died or possibly maybe
it had been stolen for it seems as
though when I am looking around
nothing seems very real, more like
it is so surreal like I am living my
life in some sort of a dream state
while I am wide awake throughout
the day slipping back and forth into
fantasy then back to reality then
into some pseudo version of both
unable to distinguish between the
three never really sure of anything
at all anymore, talking to people
all around me with the feeling I am
floating above watching them as
they were answering back in those
bubbles we text one another in,
staring in a confused perplexed
look as their faces turned into colors
of cartoon sketches then back
again going from color to black and
white then turning into the shadows
of psychedelic lines coming from
another reality causing me to feel
like I am going crazy with an alternate
realm of insanity with the lack of any
type of normality in its complex design
of simplicity in its finality which means
simply said, what is the normal
nowadays anyway? Then I try to close
my tired swollen eyes to shut out
or shut off the world around me only
to find myself in a another type of
nightmare that seems to be more like
my real life as I am walking down
the dirty streets filled with nothing
but leftover discarded trash of regret
and sorrow calling out to anyone who
might be listening only hearing my
echo tripping forgotten guilt then
falling down into a darkness spinning
out of control hearing only the loud
condescending voices of my parents
telling me I would never amount to
anything at all which fills me with rage
and anger which causes me to flip
back forth against the jaded edges
throwing me around like a rag doll
then falling faster which seems
like it is forever as memories start
to haunt me of all of my boys whom
I am missing playing all the mistakes
I have made in my pitiful life until I
finally hit the ground causing me to
break up into thousands of pieces
like the shards of a shattered mirror
with pieces disappearing into the
many different moments of time
then nothing at all no sound no sight
no smell just darkness for what seems
to me is an eternity, then waking up
in my bed sweat covering my body
shivering, shaking uncontrollably just
to look up at the clock and find that I
have been asleep for less than an hour,
finally throwing my hands in the air
putting my head between my legs
praying to God to make it stop begging
for anyone to make it go away
screaming vulgar obscenities at
nothing at all striking out at the air
as teardrops start to appear and I fall
down to the ground in a heap and sob
uncontrollably for what seems like
days as the clock strikes eight so
I pick myself up take a shower and
eat walk outside into the cold and rain
knowing that today will be just the same
as it was yesterday, then starting all
over tomorrow only going through
the motions of a dead man walking
waiting until that day comes if it comes
at all.

Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.
A Poet's Journey