I have somewhat bothersome dissociative episodes
in which I look in the mirror and do not recognize mysels
(No, I mean)
I do not recognize myself
or
I recognize myself apart from the human flesh that sometimes binds me
I tell my psychiatrist about this. Hmmm, he says.
What do you think these are about, he asks.
A shrug.
I had been hoping he could tell me
I was hoping you could tell me, I say
But he can’t
and he doesn’t say this is a common symptom for others like me
So we stare at each other in awkward silence
for a pre-determined amount of time in which he is supposed to give the patient the time and space to continue to speak, if they wish
I do not wish
He breaks the silence by inquiring how the Prozac is working for me.
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April 14, 2009 at 12:40 pm
mariana
I love your poem, amazing!
The first part kind of remind me of a story from “the man who mistook his wife for a hat” from Oliver Sacks. Have you read it? there are parts of the book in a webpage called http://www.scribd.com
April 14, 2009 at 1:47 pm
poeticgrin
A metaphor for your interaction with the world?
April 15, 2009 at 9:25 am
medicatedlady
mariana–ha! I love it. One time Bryan’s grandma mistook him for a salad.
Bryan–you and your metaphoric connections. People do often look at me strangely and can’t quite bring themselves to give words of comfort.
April 15, 2009 at 12:53 pm
mariana
I read the about the salad confusion, and couldn’t stop laughing. Did she put some vinegar on the “salad”? Sometimes it helps,
April 16, 2009 at 8:31 am
medicatedlady
I just couldn’t go along with it. I patted her arm and said, “I don’t think that’s Bryan, honey.”
April 16, 2009 at 11:47 am
poeticgrin
I’m glad my grandmother can be such a source of inspiration, MedicatedLady. I *never* find inspiration in your life and twist them to further my own gain! Never!!!!
*Dear Readers, this comment is meant be humorous, as I always twist M’Lady’s tragedies for my own benefit. See: Spammed. Bicycle Seat. Etc.
April 16, 2009 at 11:55 am
medicatedlady
No twisting necessary in this case. Your grandmother thought you were a salad.