Today was a painful day.
Tuesday is therapy day and therapy provokes anxiety.
I walk to all of my appointments and I don’t let anything
get in the way.
The panic attacks began as soon as I hit the morning
light and they didn’t stop.
At one point I could only take five or six slow steps at
a time.
I tried to stay in the shade.
I was in so much pain that I considered tossing myself
into traffic.
I avoided the underground because I was afraid
I’d switch and throw myself onto the tracks.
The thing is the panic attacks haven’t stopped.
I’m home and as soon as I move they start.
It’s horrible.
But there is the question: what if this isn’t panic.
Yes I’ve had my heart checked and yes my blood tests were
negative for heart disease but I wouldn’t be the first person
to drop dead for no clear reason.
So what if I die tonight? Do I have any last words?
Yes, I do.
I want to thank everyone who loved me; who saw talents
in me that my abuser taught me to ignore and hide.
I want to especially thank the poet, Harold Norse, who took
me on as a student and with whom I lived for five years.
He believed that I could discipline my mind and become a writer.
I want to thank my friend, Maria, who brought me out of Charleston
to Connecticut where I found my first taste of freedom in the small
town of New London.
I’m pleased that Maria remains on this planet and still calls me friend.
I want to thank my friend, Don, who was my first partner and whom
I now call Brother; I have always loved you.
Nothing will change that.
I want to thank my current Partner, James.
Whatever you do and wherever you go; know that our souls are one
and I am a prayer away.
My regret is that I did not live long enough to fully understand and edit
the writing I produced when I lived with Harold.
I am not the writer Harold thought I’d become.
I am the writer that I am.
That’s good enough for me.
Rob Goldstein (c) 2016 All Rights Reserved
