I imagine what it feels like to be inside of your head.
I imagine what it feels like
To feel that feeling of awkward when someone says something in public that normative Society dictates never should be said.
I imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be mentally ill, to feel what you feel.
Even if it was just for an hour.
I imagine how I would feel.
If my family loved me. All of me.
I imagine how I’d feel to be good enough as I am. To be good enough to hug my goddaughter and nephew.
I imagine how it would feel to be a sister again.
I imagine how it would feel if someone noticed if I was gone too long at the grocery store. I can imagine what it would feel like to not be thrown away by my Mom and Dad, imagine what it would feel like to be loved enough to notice I’m nothing like he said or what they decided to believe. I imagine what it would have felt like not to be vulnerable, his puppet, to be robbed of my sanity, because he gets off on making me die. I imagine how much better it would be to remember the first 6 months of 2023. Or to be out of medicine for 4 months.
I imagine most people probably don’t stare at nothing in a hotel bathroom for 6 hours, frozen, thirsty and starving. But nothing can move your frozen aching shoeless feet.
I imagine if anyone could ever imagine how it feels when the fog starts to burn off.
Imagine, understanding that you are not ok. And it’s time for medicine. That you must stay on your medication because you can’t control yourself no matter how strong your tenacity, fortitude and your convictions are.
I imagine what it is going to feel like when I’m operating at 100% to love my mentally ill self as much as I hate myself right now.
To actually mean what I’m stating in my acceptance speech for the award I’m winning for that thing I wrote about mental health and recovery.
I imagine being better at being lovable and not so disposable. And saying sorry to the people I hurt when I was sick and not medicated.
I imagine I’ll be spending this birthday alone again. Knowing not having to imagine how much it doesn’t matter to the people who share my bloodline.
I imagine they haven’t been inside of my head, if they did get the chance, even for an hour. Maybe they’d imagine what it feels like to be me