You’re the gun
and the bullets
inches away delivering the deepest wounds.
I am wounded, fallen,
and hollowed out by you
Lying with my insides shredded
you believe it was all necessary to keep you sane
I beg you to save me,
if only you could see how deep these wounds run
if only you could prevent them from happening
if only you could truly see me for me
if only you were moved to the same depths by the same things
if only you channeled the same pains and could sit in the dark with me
if only you didn’t see things differently
if only we were emotionally in tune
then I wouldn’t feel shameful for the way I am
then I wouldn’t have to change how my brain works,
how it turns every difference into a negativity instead of opportunity
I beg for sameness, likeness, because that’s home
and I want to go home
fall sleep under the covers
and never wake up
Particles of despair spin midair.
They soon become swallowed and part of me
before there’s a chance of being wiped away.
I try and I try and only return to asking:
How is this pain necessary?
Is not struggling even an option?
Is my negative perspective the only guideline I carry?
The nature of it does not resemble the ideal.
When it starts to feel like
we’re falling off track from living the dream,
there’s a knock on the door. We shake off the covers
to awaken where unicorns fly above rainbows
and oh, how we wonder with befuddlement,
‘how did we get here?’
shapes and shadows
strike awe and wonder
pulling images together
you’ve longed to hold
her reflection resembles
the moon smiling back
she pulls you,
her rising tides keep you
when she starts to recede
there’s no other way
there’s no other choice,
hold on tight while she gently sways
The heart stops,
and fear attacks
tearing and scraping the insides.
Stepping back, it’s not the right time.
It’s too delicate; my hands are tied.
I stall. I ruminate. I do all the things not to destroy this.
I dread that I will, gravely… to the point of not moving.
This is what it’s like when people become a ghost.
It’s too much to go forward.
So, I turn
in the opposite direction.
*trigger warning: depression*
It’s a walking numbness, a dull pain
that sometimes presents itself in waves.
It slowly builds, and one day, every few weeks it explodes.
I can’t bring myself out of bed.
The rolling tears subside for a moment only to build again and again.
The world outside, and the family inside, doesn’t exist, only what’s happening right here.
Only this pillow, only this blanket, only the thoughts of love so far away, always out of reach.
‘You should call someone, snap out of it.’
But you don’t.
They say to dig deep to find the root of the pain.
Where does it hurt?
When did it start?
Is it constant?
Does it hurt when you hold your body in such a position?
Does it hurt when you turn your insides out?
Do you cover your pain with a smile and ‘I’m fine’?
Does it ceaselessly carry weight under your eyelids?
Does it pull on you with every chance, every second of the day?
Does it numb you from climbing out of bed?
Do you answer ‘yes’ to every survey question regarding depression?
If ‘yes’, please proceed to your nearest healthcare provider immediately.
Isn’t it all just a sham, a system to pop more pills, to pour money into pharmaceutical companies
to keep you addicted to a drug that causes side effects, and more pills to alleviate such effects?
All the more pain to bear,
more hurting to just barely keep you together.
So I resist, and insist ‘I’m fine’.
It’s only a bad day, it will pass.
Until the next set of waves crash.