It is hard to run away
In lockdown
When everything you’re running from
Is inside your head
And that’s the only place
You’re allowed to be.

I am having
Vivid dreams
And in the dreams
I am back
And not back to when
I ran away to Spain
And it was good
But back to where
And what
I ran away from.

I had been living
As if
In an airport lounge
(The far side of security)
With my flight
Repeatedly
Delayed.

I left the good that I had and wanted
(except a lover and a dog)
Because I was scared
Of the way-way-too-much bad.

Shielded by
The Atlantic Ocean
And a city few come to
Without cause
I kept my head down
Like an adult
And filled my time with work.

I had a grey existence
In this waiting room
Of a place
Hoping that
By the time I went home
The things I couldn’t face
Would be
Literally or metaphorically
Dead.

But lockdown has ruined
My waiting
And I have been laid off
Not furloughed.

I have some cash in the bank
From working too much
And living too little
And I live next to a foodbank
So I can’t even wallow
In financial self-pity.

I am on anti-psychotics
And SSRIs
And taking no short term pleasures
Not even any
That won’t lead to long term pains.

I was diagnosed
With BPD
About a week before I knew I’d be losing my job.

Lockdown
Has made
Nothing easier.

I am still trapped
In my head
But now I’m also trapped
In a flat.

Scott Manley Hadley blogs at TriumphoftheNow.com and his debut poetry collection, Bad Boy Poet, was published November 2018 by Open Pen. He is Satire Editor at Queen Mob’s Tea House and is on Twitter @Scott_Hadley.

Image: Gary H. via Flickr (cc).