People want to talk about mental illness now
while I sit in my living room, thinking about
how much easier life would be if I just
didn’t exist. Not suicide, though sometimes a
flash of it in the moment makes sense. But to just
not exist? That sounds sublime. No more worries,
no more stress. The anxiety alone. The emptiness
would have to find somewhere to go. The compulsions
would form up around other brains. So maybe it’s
a public service to stick around, hole up, give
the neuroses a place to stay instead of infecting
anyone else. Let’s talk about neurodivergency,
about pretending everything is normal
so nobody thinks you need that sort of vacation.
Making your head space take up too little
reality. Making your feelings hide until they
show up in the wrong places. Taking up less space
until people don’t bother anymore.
Bill Abbott is the author of "Let Them Eat MoonPie," the history of poetry slam in the Southeast, and the poetry collection, "(My Life and Other) Train Wrecks of Ohio." He has been published in Ray's Road Review, Radius, The November 3rd Club, Flypaper Magazine, and The Sow's Ear. Mr. Abbott lives in Ohio and teaches creative writing at Central State University.
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