depression

That’s depression talking

Pelgris3 Comments

I don’t see myself as less, except on alternating Wednesdays or when I haven’t gotten enough sleep and my brain won’t stop telling me that this is all my fault. I am mostly aware that people love me and that I am a person worthy of love, except at 2 AM and the clock keeps ticking by and I’m sitting alone without someone who wants to hold me. I know that I laugh and make jokes that people find funny but I’m at my most cutting edge of laughter when I’m in such pain that there is no other outlet. Other than shouting and crying, and that’s frowned upon while sitting at my desk at work. I know I’m alright most of the time but sometimes I’m not.

And creeping along, I find myself filled with the need to get out, get out, get out. Just a flick of the blade and a few minutes till it’s over or jump from the roof, the fall will be interesting, or get a gun and go out to the desert to watch the sunrise one last time.

It’s not because I don’t love this world, because I do. I love the stirring of the trees in the wind. I love rain falling. I love watching people be unselfconciously themselves when they think no one is watching.

But I’m also that broken thing, this bag full of glass and I think it would be easier to not be here.

I need that connection of someone who wants me. Maybe just to hear my voice or to read my words on the screen. To look forward to hearing from them. To need that connection to be one step closer to happy.

They say love yourself before you can love others. I do. I know myself and see my self, it’s just that I feel unwanted and unloved most of the time and that feeling makes it hard to step out the door. And when I’m with someone, it all seems possible and the world is brighter and the work of living seems less like work.

And then it, somehow, is over or ended or put into some kind of holding pattern. It’s not that I need to be in a relationship, it’s just that I don’t feel worth love most days and I’m keenly aware of how I feel. When I’m with someone, I at least know that they like me, and if they do, maybe I’m worth love.

It’s not logical and I know that. I know that people love me. But I sometimes feel so alone and I can’t be the person who is constantly reaching out for reassurance. I don’t want to be that person who is the burden on their lives.

I know this is depression but…

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I am nothing but a moment, a memory, a hope

Dropped glass shattered, splinters broken, time itself bleeds
False hopes play us for fools
And the ache of sleepless nights cuts deeper than bones
Happiness a fiction we spin

This last breathe fades as a night of dreams shakes off false imagery for a cold inhalation of frigid air, born anew as sun crests horizon

Last tears shed as the ache unfolds and the mind tells its pretty truths and ugly lies.

And the part that is fear gorges and speaks, the ugliness must be true for who would speak such things if they were not

Silence…. Draws out

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An unhealed wound bleeding slow pulse
Thick with the poison
Alkaline tears burning as they roll
resisting the pull of gravity to cling to skin
one more bare second of together
wetness drying on a face
wracked by silent screams
voice made quiet by the nightjar
and a horrible sense of ichorous urgency
nobility snuffed out
so much simpler to bleed than to break

under the weight of hoping

Out the other side

Pelgris1 Comment

There is something either cleansing or fucking scary about coming out of a depression so deep that moving itself is a act of will. Afterwards, I feel almost normal which I never really feel for any length of time. And that’s scary. Because I remember this feeling. It’s the same as what I felt when my emotions were locked down. The pure sense of seeing out from a cell constructed of my mind. Safe but trapped.

The other side is I feel scoured clean. Like all pain has been cleared away. Though it hasn’t and the loss of that numbness makes way for the pain of being alone. There is someone, of course, but we haven’t spent much time together due to scheduling lately. And I need that contact to maintain equilibrium.

I can maintain when I am on my own, but if I get used to having someone to share spinning plate duty with, then they are unavailable, the spin starts to falter.

And, for me, nothing calms me, keeps me centered like touch. Just a hand on my back is enough. Though more is always welcome.

And, for reasons I won’t go into, for privacy reasons, we touch very little. Also a problem for me.

It doesn’t feed my depression, but it doesn’t help it.

So I guess this is less about depression and more about my needs not being completely met. Not that I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be, but that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I was better equipped to weather the storm.

Small breaks

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Sleep with me in the dream
breathe break
Shattered reminisces
Wiped away
Sour laughter
Waits lurks
Pain beyond endurance
Step to the edge
Jump
The only regret
The last unstolen kiss

Planting

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A little doubt starts it
An irritant, a nothing

Then desire, unrequited
Jealousy, heartache, hope,
joy, crash, euphoria,
experience, finding, losing

It all wraps around that seed of doubt

Tight and tighter
Hollow in the pit of the stomach
Ache in the chest
Quiet despair
A slope ending in ending

Something Breaks it open
Shatters the form
It all falls away…

Leaving the tiny seed of doubt

Tell me

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a truth
something painful or happy
A notion or a story
a dream or a hope
Of depression and manic
Tell me it all, leave nothing out

Your every scar or rainbow on your soul
Just don’t leave me alone in silence
Or speak lies for want of bright words

Minor chord changes

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Long slow pains
That draw forth like a spool of wire
Abrading edges
Built raw and weeping
Distance burst but burning
And the slow chortle
Crossing thresholds
For doors rotted open
Hopeless by the hour
Giving way to sleep
Refuge turned sour
Even here is empty
Debris strewn
Sobs echo from quiet
Corners

Isolation

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What builds and breaks
what fears do shake
and in the hollow shift
the blanket moans and rote cries
sleeping soundly with our lies
this nightmare begins as I wake
sorrow pouring in
finger tremble length from the trigger
depression strides and struts it’s stuff on stage
growing larger in the silence of spilling tears
banked memories rekindle flames
dark journeys play out
crippling self doubt
need to touch, to feel, to know
but only the pain crashes down
smothering hope’s reaching hand

Uncertain fragility

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The soft skitter of wind kissed across skin
Inexplicably cold dropped deep into coma
Slipping down from heights
Settling into well worn grooves
Fever blossom flushed
Dizzy
Sensitive to touch
Shudder at the core
Boxes closed, open of their own accord
Anxiety and depression waking from their slumber