You will have days where you feel better, and you will have days where you want to die. Both are okay. There is no magical cure. You just need to close your eyes, and trust that the waves will pass, and soon you’ll be able to breathe again.

I walk in a borrowed self,
a drift of mist
left from a smoking lake.

Even when I sit still as a dead wind,
the sun still eats me.
My skin turns back to sea-foam
peeling away from a loaned skin.

With luck the melt is slow,
the thinning of a stone
or the thinning of love
to its weary core:
that hoard guarded
as if the last few seeds.

Zona Teti, “Joan Outside,” Mississippi Review (vol. 19, no. 3, 1991)