Please do not call or message me to ask if I'm OK. I am totally fine, it's just a poem. The fact that I wrote the poem at all indicates I'm doing well enough that I am aware of and can manage my situation. I appreciate your concern and I love you all, but I really don't want 20 calls about this, just appreciate it for what it is. If it's something you can relate to, then by all means, share it around.

Loneliness

It’s the repetition of walking past
an empty box from the frozen pot pie
of last week’s dinner, when it sits only
two feet away from an empty garbage can.

It’s allowing the kitchen sink to fill
with dirty dishes lathered by stagnant
water and a surface layer of grease
and old dish soap, because by now
you rinse and reuse the last relatively
clean utensils for every meal.

It’s ordering enough takeout
to create the illusion of at least
two diners, so you think that the
delivery boy is none the wiser,
but you could punt the pizza across
the parking lot for all he cares;
he already pretends
not to know your secret.

It’s taking a dangerous combination
of Klonopin and vodka to make you
forget why taking prescription pills
and vodka seemed like a good idea
in the first place, becoming a cycle
of potentially deadly decisions.

It’s friends and family
with paramedics on speed dial
in case you miscalculate your
dosage, or overestimate the
tolerance you’ve garnered, or
you’ve simply just given up.

It’s drowning in self-inflicted pain
to distract from the burden of being alive.

And yet, it hasn’t stopped you from living.