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.
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
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.”