When Depression Talks Over Me

When I said I was just beginning to heal,

            I meant pieces of my past have been breaking off

in painful, messy ways,

and I thought the cobbles and pebbles  

would bind together to form neat stepping stones

so, I would know where the hell I’m going

But they’ve washed away in a flood of self-deprecation

 

I am honestly rubble at this point

            A body pile that was once shelter,

            was once woman

with a doorbell and hands and Imposter Syndrome  

Don’t waste your time rifling through this chaos

If you’re looking for a way in,

just know, the door did not survive the storm

 

When I said I could breathe again,

            I meant my body has unwedged itself from beneath a boulder

It is damaged and flatter than any tone I can dredge up

when I tell you, “I’m just taking it day by day”

 

I am salt and flour and sugar

            I am built from three levels

            of a special kind of perdition,

rolled into my own stubborn boulder

with a self-centered center

Then stretched from one end of the earth to the other,

my skin thinning every time I realize I’m not a perfect anything,

until you can finally see through me

 

When I said I recently learned how to cry,

            I meant my emotions tried to drown me in my own fucking sea

I was not born a social animal,

and I’ve never learned to talk to boats or fish or sirens

Anything that might carry me to the gasping shore

So, here I am, choking on a petty memory,

as the tide rushes down my throat

 

I remember the first time I unhinged my jaw,

         vomiting the swollen stories,

            watching them gurgle in the open air

I wanted to swallow them down again, like eggs,

whole and white and weak

I thought, if I was lucky, maybe they would lodge there,

in that perfect space between mind and gut,

and I would finally have a physical reason to collapse

           

When I said I was starting to feel like myself again,

         I meant in the night, I met a monster who looked so much like me

that when she offered up some rest,

it felt natural for her to slip into these dark, weary veins

 

I licked a shattered mirror once,

            searching for the flavor of pieces

            that could no longer recognize

their misanthropic edges

She, rather I, tasted like teeth and knees

I’ve tried washing my mouth out with carbonated therapy,

but her, rather my, desperation lingers

 

When I said the future looked brighter,

         I meant I’ve been hurling toward an angry star, combusting all along

 

 

You can also read this poem here

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