Mind Mass Index Poem by Arthur H Rowley

It has been a decade of this, yet I am thinking about it again
My house has no electricity now so I know that upon my arrival to my bedroom
The silence will begin to swallow me like the whale in Pinocchio
Mouth wide and warm and welcoming

Everything is costing too much and my mother is sad
She sits hunched on my sofa, laptop on her knee, work piled up beside her
See,
Growing up this kind of poor means that she has the laptop that her job payed for
And there is no food in the fridge
But the student loan pays for her degree,
Something to keep her brain ticking enough
So that work no longer feels like pulling the plug at the top of her spine
And letting herself drain away

I will pull down the mask of momentary peace to steal her into a glimmer of light,
Turning her eyes golden like the sun pushing through caught blinds
I think I will never be able to fully put this mask down
How I am Schrodinger's son with the mask always both on and off at the same time and yet not at all

I think how I will attend work for the first time in months on Thursday
And then get up early to go to therapy
Work means money which means a burden lessened
Therapy means I will sit uncomfortably and tell half-truths to a lady only ten years older than me
Who knows me by the right name and asks me when my father last called
And, after learning when this all started, asks me if I believe some people are born mentally ill
All for the chance that maybe my sadness will stop spilling out my mouth into our living room
It never used to do that, I used to keep it so quiet
I think I have become too confident in my self-consciousness
I am, ineffably, too pleased with myself

The people I spend my time with include friends, colleagues, and strangers.
My newest best friend is a small girl with scars
Who sends me pictures of herself being discharged from therapy after years
She tells me I am important, and I promise her I will paint her as a thank you,
She knows I cannot paint so I promise to paint something beautiful and name it after her
But it doesn't seem to distract her long enough to forget.
I pull the mask on and she asks me if I'm okay

My oldest best friend who I have managed to still hold close is a boy with scars
Who makes me dinner and shows me old animated movies
He tells me that he will go to culinary school and to japan and to Thailand
And that he will kill himself if the test comes back positive
I promise him that I will stop writing about him as a thank you for dinner
He knows I will not, but it doesn't distract him long enough to forget
I pull the mask on and he invites me over

My life is an incomplete inquisition
Each time I believe I have identified the culprit
Their reflections turn and twist until I am staring at myself in the water
Each time somehow older and yet more new
A clearer image of my treachery spilt across dirty puddles

Patience is my largest attribute and I have stitched it to hold me as close as it can,
To hide beneath these clothes perfectly
And I think I will forgive myself, at least, I think I will have to
For the years of quiet and for the allowing myself to become too loud

And while I am yet to find peace
Perchance it would serve me better to prioritise the truth
And maybe if I'm very lucky
They're the same thing