Wednesday, August 23, 2017

The seats in my truck.

7-18-17

Three seats in my truck.


The first is the driver's seat. I'm doing well. I'm on my meds. They're working. I'm in control. I'm present. I'm making progress.


The passenger's seat. I'm manic. I have no control of where I'm going or how I get there. I space out. I don't know how I got from point A to point B. My life and safety is not in my hands.


The middle seat is complex. 

In the upright position I can sit there. No leg room. Uncomfortable. The worst. This sat is my lowest point of depression. I can make it somewhat comfortable if I have to. But the thing is, with my meds. The seat folds down.

There's a few perks. It has cup holders for the other two seats. Works as an arm rest. Has storage. That's the depression on meds. Silver lining.

But when I'm down, I have to sit on it, folded like that. I desperately want the comforting familiarity of the seat back position. But I can't get it to work. Meds won't allow it. So I'm stuck. Sitting on this center console. Sad, Uncomfortable, and pissed off.


We don't talk about what's in the back seats. *shifty eyes*

No comments:

Post a Comment

1,000 Lives.

  1,000 Lives I've always thought that by bouncing around in life, doing things for a season (not a literal season,  but for a period of...