Ode to the Sick
They are there when he walks through the Boston Common;
They are there when he is in the Park in Andover;
They are there when he is in Thornton, NH;
Because they — they are he.
A storm’s brewing, clouds thick, mushroom-like, the whole sky is bruised purple and black —
What more is there to this life? (he thinks out loud); “what more could there be?” he asks.
Where does happiness come from: Why is happiness easy for some, but not for others?
Stopped on Washington Street, Andover, when his Mom asked, “what’s wrong?”
That’s when he knew — well maybe he didn’t, but that’s when someone knew.
He laughs it off now, but he knows it’s not funny — trust me, HE KNOWS!
It is such a battle, the days, he tells those who he can tell, but those who need to know — can’t.
There are others that depend on him, so he puts the disguise back on.
How long can one where a mask before the truth is unearthed?
Some ask him why, others get upset because they don’t understand: What should he tell them?
Occasionally he feels ungrateful, but tells himself ‘we are who we are’; then asks, ‘aren’t we?’
He’d change how he felt at times, but he’d say ‘I’d never change me’; not a single thing —
You may inquire why, you may laugh at that assertion, or you may suppose he’s insane —
His greatest faults are his greatest assets, though; if he were to change any of it: all would fall
Imagine: Doing your favorite thing on earth, but still finding no enjoyment;
Imagine: Being 12, having not a care on the world, but behind those eyes a mother sees darkness;
Imagine: Yearning to feel happiness, striving to be free of the murkiness of wicked thoughts —
Yet never being quite there, maybe just a fingertip away, but always just out of reach.
Your empathy should be saved for those more deserving;
Your sympathy as well.
All he asks for are open minds and open ears —
Hear out those who struggle, try to understand their problems, and convince others to listen.
Nobody listens, everybody judges, and nobody really cares; except the rare few who do.
He judges no one, he hears everyone.
He cares for those who don’t care for him.
He loves those whom he has never met, but who he knows in heart.
His brethren and sistren dying on the streets: he honor’s you; those alive: come find him, he says.
Wars are battles, battles are wars —
All his have been double-sided; and yet there are always more:
Clashes inside battles, struggles inside wars.
When will it end?
Stability is the answer, they say; yet the directions don’t lead the way —
The directors have never tested the directions, they’ve never been out that way!
He says to not blame them because ‘they’ve only done good by us’:
The many grueling hours in the classroom, library, and then finally the residency;
‘They’ve done us good, yes, but I’ll admit there are still many who could do much more.’
Staring back at himself he sees his blue eyes, there’s a green ring around the pupils;
He sees his tired, worn out face, there’s bags underneath both eyes;
He sees his nose, on the outside there’s stress wrinkles on either side;
He sees his mouth, it’s uniquely used to remaining flat, emotionless.
Beyond his face he sees a much older man, one who has been tattered down by life —
Battered, bruised, and beaten by his mere existence on earth —
Not by anyone or anything, but by life —
This man is 22.
He remembers the times he woke up in the hospital;
He remembers the police, the accidents, the misery, the immorality and wickedness;
He remembers the depression, the drugs;
He remembers going away and missing his high school graduation, never fully returning home —
if he did, he wouldn’t have remained alive.
He regrets all of it, and none of it —
He misses what used to be, but wants none of it back —
He would change everything, and nothing —
He would take a do-over but would never do it over again.
Please know, he’s sorry if he ever hurt you;
Comprehend that, today, he stands before you a changed man;
Understand things were difficult for him, and today he does right by people;
Realize that it wasn’t he who was talking;
He begs you to forgive him because he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.
This is your friend, your neighbor, your town’s sub shop owner;
This is your uncle, your aunt, your nephew, your niece, your cousin, your second cousin;
This is your brother, your son, your father, your mother, your sister, your daughter;
This is your grandfather, your grandmother, your granddaughter, your grandson;
This is drug addiction; this is mental illness.
And he, is me.