I started writing poetry as an act of self care—a way to process overdose deaths of multiple patients whom I had cared for over the years. Many of my patients experience mental health challenges and are street entrenched and homeless; many are addicted to toxic fentanyl. This poem reveals the tension in one patient’s experience of seeking help for addiction.
Alone
The pressure of his resistance
pushed against the examination room walls.
He was hearing my words
but he wasn’t listening—
His story drowned mine.
Something in him shifted
his eyes darted,
he shrank in the chair
and wept.
His sadness
softened and calmed him.
His cheeks and crown unburdened
his arms folded loosely in his lap,
release
Take your time
His moist hazel eyes met mine
and his heart stuttered:
it’s so stressful
alone
isolated in my room
being locked in the pandemic with my sadness
all my creativity has got up and left
I want off the stuff
I’m tired of the addiction.
I listened to him,
attended to his suffering
alone.
Footnotes
Competing interests
None declared
- Copyright © 2023 the College of Family Physicians of Canada
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