Uncomfortable with crowds

Depression is insidious. For me, when its not overwhelming sadness, it’s self destruction. It’s eating too much. Spending too much. Pushing too hard. Overcorrecting until people are sick of it. Or staying up way too late even when I recognize that I’m tired. Even when I’m falling asleep in my chair.

And the thing is, things aren’t bad. I’m anxious for a trip I have to take for work. Basically because there will be a ton of people there and I won’t have any social cover or retreat. Other than that, I’m good.

But still I push past endurance. Still I do this. Self destruction. In service to nothing. And, while I’ve gotten better down the years, I’m still not well. I don’t even know what well looks like. And it baffles me that there are people out in the world who have no idea what this is. They never feel like this. And if they do, they shake it off. Like it’s nothing, like it’s easy.

To me, they are aliens. I can’t relate to that frame of reference. I don’t know what it is. So we are aliens to each other. Describing the indiscribable. And getting lost in the words we can’t share.

And I wonder, how many dichotomies are like this? How many fundamental schisms of perspective are there?

We share this world, but I don’t think we live in the same one. And that is the hardest thing to accept and convey. The reason we are so fundamentally divided is that we have codified our stances as fundamental parts of our being. And so, every deviation is a existential fight for identity with no person or group able to give ground. Lest we are forced to redefine our self as other.

I despair for humanity. Not because I think we are doomed but because I see the downward trend. And I don’t know if we’ll make it out. I hope there is some angle I’m not seeing. Some truth that lays fallow and unknown waiting to bring forth life.

But still its late, and even now I procrastinate.
I can still get a couple of hours of sleep, maybe.
I can control me. And maybe that’s all we could ever do. And maybe that will need to be enough.

Pounding heart shakes the leaf

Kiss me sleeping
Breathe dry
Heat and blinking
Insomnia and anxiety team up
Hope watching you sleep isn’t creepy
Too tired to close my eyes
Dreading the coming day
Freight train approaches
Standing on the tracks
No certainty but uncertainty
Looking towards that future
That horizon
Wondering what’s next
A fish out of water
In a new pond
I’ll flourish
But too much
Becomes toxic shock
And no one notices until you’re gone
Seeing what happens
When the air gets thin
Wondering
If a new lake will make things better
Wondering
And sitting here awake
Too tired for dreaming
Hoping to see
To real-ize a future
Where being stuck won’t pass for
Stability

When we jump, will we fall or fly?

Nights passed and still sleep has yet to find me
Words unsaid
Unthunk
Undone
Unravel out seeking tether
Weary eyes no match for a weary heart bound up in aching
Telling myself what is
Telling myself what to do
And still my heart pounds and screams
Rocking itself to anything but sleep
The conscious mind says follow the path
Says wait
Says we have a plan and a way and just follow the steps
And my heart cries
But not so schismatic
We are united
Maybe that’s the gift of knowing
To break oneself into pieces which observe and know the whole
Or maybe my tired brain is seek connections
To hold onto any truth to keep from sinking
And maybe I want to sink
Though I’ve seen the dark precipice of death from the shores of drowning
And its not peaceful
So no sinking
But my mind drowns
Drifts away
Untended
Untethered
How to sleep?
Waiting for fate to flip the next card
Was it always this hard…
Probably
It’s easy to forget the sludge dark
When you have somehow managed a bit of time in the sky

In our silences, we must all find our own reasons to stay

In the depths
In the dark
Pressure pulling down
Feet covered in muck
Lungs slowly empty
No panic
Accepted endings
Dying by inches
Unseen in the dark

Faces peer down
Passing by
Looking into the water
Seeing only reflection
Smiling

Pushing free
Swimming up
Breaking surface
Breathing in
Forgoing dissolution
…and maybe peace

To spit in their eyes and stand defiant

A reasonable facsimile of happiness painted in viscera

There are days where my bones are bells chiming discordance
Heart aching days where silence is my only defense through silent screams and sobs
Ugly crying trying to expel the pain of being
Feeling it catch in my throat
Too big to let go of

Days where all the pain is masked by being tired
Sleepless nights looking for escape
Unwilling to take what feels like maybe the only option
But knowing it’s a lie
That success is failure
That failure is one more chance
… To be something other than lonely

I’m a bag of broken clattering together
Making music that soars and sings
All from the painful pieces
Cut open
Hoping this time
This time
To be
Free

Dogs barking, can’t sleep without umbrella

Sitting awake meaning to sleep
But I just sit here eyes closed
Thinking about tomorrow
Anticipation insomnia
Trepidation too
But mostly I can’t sleep when I have things to say
Nonsense things
Pointless things
Cute things
Sexy things
Quiet things
Music things
Just things
It all pents up
Flowing out in this nervous energy
Keeps me awake
Keeps my mind churning
Over and over
Not exactly the best trait
To sometimes feel like you’re walking on spiky rocks
Needing to talk
And all that comes out is
“hey, 😁, good morning!”
Weirdo
Goofy Sir
Serious and happy
This is what I mean when I say
“I’m too much”
Too many things
Stupid things like
“I like you.” said too much
Words bubble out of my effervescent heart
Bypassing thought
It’s no wonder nothing lasts
Who could stand up to the onslaught of my feelings
And now we reach the heart of it
Fear
An anxiety attack that builds slowly
Reading, games, TV, kitties
Anything to not think
To not word vomit my heart out
Yet
That’s all that works
Other than being held

Spent casing memories

Spent casing memories
Softly raining down to the wet earth
A thousand rounds per minute
Trying to overwhelm
Hard fought equilibrium

Easier to push them aside until I can’t move, waste deep in wasted ammunition
These rounds fall faster
Burying me neck deep
The smell of gunpowder and lingering cosmoline

Drowning in this bullet hell
Thoughts flying
Keeping me from you

Stalking horse

These morning hours wait for me
Sitting around sharpening their knives
Waiting to ambush me
To drag me out into the streets and devour me
I need a word or a touch but there’s no one
The world sleeps
and these words hunt me
I burn and burst but can’t find you
dreams elude me
I need to save you or you to save me
but I’m just a word fool
hunted by hours
waiting for the sun to say wake.

I know this is depression but…

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

Laying in bed, unable to sleep, alone

I sometimes think, “I’m just this mad thing. Bound up in desires impossible to realize. Trying to get others to see, to accept, impossible beauty, impossible desires, so that at some point I won’t be alone.”

Its weird to think this way, I think. Weird to hope this way. To jump then question the decision. To fall in love, then hope they are in love as well. All of these thoughts bouncing around in my brain and mostly I want a few minutes of silence. Or, if not silence, then to speak with my love. The person I love. About anything, everything.

That last is the most normal.
Which brings us to why do I care what seems normal. It’s simple. Confirmation bias. Artists and open minded types surround ourselves with similar people. So much so that mainstream ideas seem foreign. And because they do, we are less likely to engage in those areas. And as we pull away, we, ourselves, become foreign to people in the mainstream. This leads to a problem. Our audience for our art should be able to reach as many people as possible. Not because as many people as possible enjoying the work is the goal but because reach means that the people who need to read the piece or hear the poem are more likely to do so.

These are the places my mind goes when all I really want is to be with you. To hold you. To learn you. All the things we need to be successful in a relationship. See? Overthinking even in the face of my desire to simply be with the person I love