Get up, cook, wash, dust, nap — repeat.
Lockdown’s got me locked in,
And I’ve been dancing to the same beat.
If only someone were here to share —
But here I am, swiping through insta reels on self-care.
“Stay at home,” they say. “Stay safe.”
I just wish I could save my mind from spiralling away.
So, the more I clean and the more I scrub,
Still, my mind stays a mess — a bubbling hub.
I talk to friends. They say,
“Lean on us. We’re just a video call away.”
So I log in, I rant, and say —
I can’t do the dishes, not today.
I can’t hold a pencil, can’t get out of bed.
And no, I’m not PMSing — it’s not one of those days, I said.
I tell them I’ve taken my happy pills,
Haven’t skipped a single one,
Still, I feel drowsy, shaken, and i slack
And nightmares keep coming back to back.
Then I open my notes and stare —
She’d said, “Use them. These are useful skills, I swear.”
For the first time, I try, hoping something might shift,
Though she warned me — “This isn’t a magic fix.”
I switch off the lights and gather my might,
Lie back on the bed, letting go of the fight.
I recall her voice — calm and precise —
How she told me, “Do each step twice.”
With my fists clenched tight, I breathe in slow,
Begin the relaxation, soft and low.
She said, “You might forget your woes…
And with the tension gone, you just might doze.”
She also said, “Don’t be hard on yourself.
Your mind is not the enemy, nor is your fear.”
And when I woke, I smiled a little inside —
My therapist was right. I’m still here.
