chriss locker
the doctor who refused to prescribe me xanax was right
or
nothing more surprising than:
“substance abuse”
he says to me –
maybe it was naïve
to think nobody knew
that if i wasn’t drinking myself calm
i was thinking about it obsessively
that if i wasn’t drugging myself to sleep
i was trapped awake & spiraling
that if i was stoned i was drunk
if i was drunk one more couldn’t hurt
(& neither could a couple more)
“self-medication”
i've said to the mirror –
maybe it was necessary
to repeat to myself
that if it wasn’t going to kill me
it couldn’t have been that harmful
that if it could have been worse
it couldn’t have been that bad
that if doctors never listened & therapists didn’t care
it couldn’t have been that serious
(take your meds as prescribed & trying drinking less)
“substance abuse”
i say to myself –
maybe it’s time
to call it what it is
just call it what it is
can i call it what it is?
will i ever be able to
call it
what it
is?
Chriss is a nonbinary, neurodivergent poet living in Northern Idaho with their spouse, cat, dog, and too many unused college degrees. Healthcare professional by day; daydreamer by night. Their work is currently featured in "milk: on consumption, materialism, and taste" from Carrion Press and issue three of "new words" from new words {press}.
Instagram: @visciouschrisss
Instagram: @visciouschrisss
