Knowing this is what it is

holds my poet’s hand in helping me in

writing me into understanding

how to explain what this is.
It’s a daily felt disorientation.
Being turned in a circle for a long time.

Feeling not quite like a nuclear bomb survivor

but still damaged

by some undiagnosed unexplained unexplainable when it feels like I am moving but I’m not.

Being on a constant trip

saying hello and goodbye to no one sitting in my kitchen in my

treasured home,-cherished for being in one place with

the doors and windows having wide openness,

the plumbing and electrical is mostly agreeable,

when the floor is dirty, it’s honestly dirty-i can clearly see this. I am not making this up.

I can look out the sociable windows letting in sunshine and winds, and know

that what I am seeing moving is really moving. I am not imagining this.

I don’t walk on its stairs feeling that i am falling backwards.

Walking room to room I don’t feel like I’m walking in the opposite

direction

unlike

what i feel

when i enter into

a conversation

with a closed door in a maze in the home tripping over disorganized piles of silently doubting closed curtained spouses’s vague words in a topsy turvy dark hallway that i will never get out of.

This is what it is like being married to someone mentally confused –

likely having inattentive ADD, or ADHD, or dementia, OCD

or traumatic brain injury, or a physical mind-altering addiction, or drug’s side effects, or Asperger’s, autism,

is hiding something,

or hoards.

©️January 2025 Much Love, Deb Poems