sadness and a salt of rage in august??? Already???

I am finally learning how to be okay with myself again,
eight year old me would be awfully happy to see that I
can hold a spoon without thinking about eating yellow.
Most days, I spend my time alone,
abiding the minutes that tell me my mother is calling
that I’m hungry
that I need to drink some water.
I write, and I read, and I sit and dream. Simultaneously, I am also losing
all my friends, even the ones that matter most to me
because I forget that they aren't me.
I stretch if I remember to,
and I pray my anxiety lets me speak today.
Is this all part of being okay again,
even as I force myself to wake up and open the blinds,
even as I push deep, the isolation pooling in my stomach.
I am worried I’m getting comfortable enough wearing it;
hadn't realized I made it with my own hands
stitched together in colour blocks
even bought buttons for it and called it a project.
But it was just a friend, a burden, a home.
So you see, I am still working to get there,
but I don’t want to be in my head
because I think if I never spoke to anyone again,
I could do it. I could do it all, an astronaut ejected into eternal space, sounds of home mix taped into a small iPod.
I don’t know if I’m doing it already,
when I look behind me
and see
everyone I’ve ever loved yelling into the sky
something like you can’t reach us
like even if you tried
like you tried, but then you gave up, and then you thought you were invincible.
I see them all
and I remember a game I used to play when I was a kid — icy tower,
jumping from ledge to ledge before the tower collapses, and you fall.
I was proud of my high score
but the tower never seemed to end.
You jumped, and you jumped, and you
fought with everything you could’ve called hope in your body but you
still fall. You will always
fall, eventually.
Can I call it being okay
Can I call it okay, and still survive?
If I call it that
what do I call my loneliness?