Crows

Restless.
Mind won't turn off.
The vigilant hum of the purifier normally helps woo me to sleep.

Sweet, gentle love holds me.
My friend and companion.
But the crows in my head are squawking and flapping their wings.
I asked him when he realized I had mental health problems.
He said I told him right away.
It makes me feel better.
No one should go into a storm unprepared.

I think about how it feels to occupy my own thoughts on the downward spiral.
I observe the hurricane as it approaches.
It's exhilarating and terrible.
I cannot stop it.
But I've learned to give warnings.
"My wheels are spinning. They won't stop. I can't turn it off. I'll try and be better soon."

The messages are the the same. Pointless. Unworthy. Selfish. Angry. Victim. How dare you be a victim? Manipulative. So full of shit. So so selfish. Can't you think about anyone else? Useless. They'd miss you for a while, but they'd be ok. What good can you do? You do nothing. The world is no better for having you in it.  You'd free them.

God damn it! Shut up.

I just want peace.
But why does silence scare me so very much?

I promise I'm trying.
The messages say, "but are you really?"

How does he do it?
How does he keep coming back?
I've seen the fear in his eyes.
It was about 3 years ago.
He's told me that he couldn't promise me he'd stay.
I couldn't blame him.
It was not a lack of love.
In the worst moments neither of us knew what he'd come home to.
We both feared the worst.
That he'd come home to a vacant shell.
Hazy eyes.
Cold.
Unmoving.

And that may be the worst.
But it's not all.
I cry a lot.
Everything hurts.
I crumble.
But he's still here.
Let it sink in.
He's still here.

How did he never run?
How is this worth it?
How could I be worth it?

But even with the crows doing their best to break free, and my longing to quiet them, he stays.
How does he stay?
I'm afraid to ask for fear of jinxing it.
But he's here.
I hope he realizes I see this.

He calms the crows sometimes.
And when he can't he holds me until the storm passes.