I wrote this poem in May of 2024.
shadows of summer’s past came and haunted me
in dreams, in my most intrusive of thoughts
every summer tragedy comes to the surface
in spring
not allowing me to enjoy the may flowers
that are blooming
not allowing the visual poetry of spring
happening right in front of me
panic attacks, crying spells, dissociative episodes
bursts of anxiety and nightmares
that deprive me of sleep, leaving me in a haze
of despair followed by depression
and I end up in a fog of exhaustion I can’t
seem to get rid of
Life on the BPD 
Sorry to hear about all this. I know what you mean about spring stings. I find it very unsettling at first because of the memories you were talking about and so I tend to stay inside and then slowly adapt to the total change in weather. We have the four seasons here.
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