Psychosomatic

Psychosomatic

Psychosomatic (A Poem)

Whenever I see my Physician for

Diagnostic maintenance I remind her,

Steadfast, I’m not interested in drugs.

I only want to feel differently, better

Than I presently do. Some nights I

Go to bed terrified, anxious I won’t

Rise for the next day. When I do

Wake, I cry for reasons I don’t

Fully recognize. Other than pain.

I know pain well. It’s unbearable,

Weird, awkwardly terrible. My

Pain’s embarrassing. I’m not

Embarrassed that I’m suffering

The wrath of Frank in my loans.

I’m embarrassed that other

People get uncomfortable

When I try to communicate

My agony. Frank’s this real

Monster living inside of me.

Frank the fire flaring IC man,

Starting fires and causing

Inflammation. I’m riddled with

Deceitful urgency dragging

Me out of sleep, meetings,

Social engagements. My

Intimate cavern expands then

Clenches in time with my heart

beat but a step ahead. I dare

Not breathe a deeper breath

As to not upset the balance.

Frank will not let me rest easy.

My Doctor seems uninterested in the

Journey I’m taking. Her phrasing

Leaves me hollow, plagued with inner

Doubt and inquisition. She’s said,

“Psychosomatic, psychologist, stress.

You’re anxiety’s getting the best of

You. You’ll do better with more rest.”

I have real visible symptoms. My suffering

Exists. Lesions line my bladder while

Hives my ribs. Psychosomatic. Like

I made the whole thing up? There’s

Nothing like being called crazy to make

You feel like you’re crazy.  I know my

Sufferings real. I physically see signs

Swelling irritation I feel the urgency,

Burning, stabbing pain all the time

I'm stressed, yes, but she won't tell me

What to do with the the anxiety or how

To manage she just gave me more -

In telling me my issues may be.

Psychosomatic.

Yes I experience negative self talk,

But that doesn’t make me crazy. I may

Spend hours arguing with myself over

Why I'm stupid only I don't know who

To believe because both arguments

seem valid. Does that make me

Psychosomatic?

Frank’s no longer just creating fires

In my loans, he’s  in my head. I believe

She believes I'm psychosomatic, my PCP

That is - how do you not have anxiety in

Today’s age where so much is asked of

Each individual. Everything I do makes

Me nervous. Everything I do makes me

Question everything I do. I can't breathe.

Ever. I never take a real breath. Air is never

Satisfying. I don’t always know what’s real.

Does my mind do this to my body or my

Body do this to my mind? I refuse to believe

This is all in my head. I’ll keep seeking answers

And fight the negative self talk telling me,

“I’m better off dead.”



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