“The Things I Miss”

I miss the days of silence.

Since my schizophrenia’s onset,

the plants haven’t stopped whispering.

Whether on, off, or on mute,

the Zenith radio chatters ceaselessly.

Bulging in and out,

the white walls breathe laboriously.

I miss feeling alone.

Now, there’s always someone

in the window or

in the corner of my room.

Maybe a stranger,

maybe a dead relative.

I miss when I could sleep peacefully,

when no one laughed outside my door

or stood over me in the darkness.

It’s been such a long five years,

I’m not even afraid anymore.

Just tired,

so very tired,

and it’s a long road ahead.

---

“For the Love of Boring”

I love boring—

boring games,

boring work,

boring people.

When you have schizophrenia,

life is like a raging typhoon of fire.

You suffer chaos and pain so severe

you think it will never end,

and you’re gaslit into wondering

whether there really was a beginning

or if life has always been this way.

I revel in boringness,

rare as boring is,

because boring is the closest

I may ever get to peace.

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Nate Ritchie (he/him) is an emerging writer with schizophrenia. When he isn’t writing poetry, he can instead be found writing horror fiction or volunteering with the National Archives.