Tag: depression

i know you love me,
but it doesn’t make me
feel less alone

sometimes i want to ask you if
you’ve ever been
swallowed whole by something
entirely separate from yourself 
but something you know
was born inside you

fermenting in the warm, dark
parts
expanding & shrinking
breathing
feeding
off of words & feelings
you don’t have names or reasons for

sometimes i want to ask you
if there are parts of yourself
you’re not sure you can
control

but 

when i look in your eyes
unwavering
like nothing has ever made you
fear
your own mind

i know you love me,

i know you will say
no.

alone // a.s.m

how selfish am I
to live this life, 
to see through these eyes, 
to want to die? 

how selfish am I
to laugh with ease
to seek joy when
there is suffering? 

how selfish am I
to strive to calm 
the storm inside? 
is it selfish
to survive?

survivor’s guilt // a.s.m

mother, don’t you know? 
the boy with the golden 
irises doesn’t smile anymore. 
he’s packed, and there’s something 
heavy in the bags he carries
underneath those eyes.
there’s no such thing as darkness
in the city of angels.
there’s no fear in death when 
you welcome it. 
perhaps the sun will thaw
him, perhaps the cold has
nothing to do with why he’s 
so numb.

you can’t run away from what’s within // a.s.m

Foggy  Heart + Pins & Needles Brain

some mornings the sun shines
a bit differently
through my blinds, and
the fog’s already settled in
my stomach, signaling that
today will hurt– that i will cry
over the if only’s that make me feel
so
heavy.
these days are hard, but
they are not the worst.

the worst days are when the sun
shines brightly through the blinds, but
my insides have not yet thawed.
abruptly– a blow to the chest
and i am caught
off guard, gasping for
breath, reaching for
anything or anyone that can
save me from this feeling of
drowning. only to

realize i am not
drowning– if only
it were that easy. but
nobody can give me their hands
and pull me to
safety.

all i can do is listen to
the tick tock of my heartbeat–
not knowing when it will end;
constantly in fear of when it will return.

Problems Don’t Just Dissolve

You utter it gently, but
your eyes are accusing
when you say, “you can 
swallow your problems in a pill and
watch them dissolve
in your stomach.”

I know what you really mean–
that I’m taking the easy way out, 
that I’m cheating at life, that you have
real problems. 

Because standing in the kitchen for half
an hour with a jar of peanut butter in my 
hand, counting numbers in my mind and
debating whether to eat
is stupid. 

Because skipping my best friend’s birthday
party because I can’t breathe
in large crowds
is dramatic. 

Because having to write down everything
on a piece of paper before talking to
someone on the phone is just me being
a perfectionist.

Because making someone else order
for me at Subway since I am overwhelmed
by the options– because I can feel the people behind
me in line drilling their eyes into 
my skull, is me
being shy.

Because when I’m having a panic
attack and I choke out, “I can’t breathe,”
I’m being emotional.

Because when I am down and
I can’t figure out why, I’m 
being distant and cold. 

Because mental illness isn’t
real. Because I’m just 
weak. Because struggling with 
what you take for granted every day
isn’t a big deal. 

Every day I must teach
myself to walk, when everyone around
me is running. 
I must learn to quiet
the earthquake in my throat when
my voice shakes. 
I must learn to brush off
the darts you spit
at me. 

You say I am weak,
and for so long I believed it. 
But I am learning my own
strength.

V for Victory

we taped our photos up on
the cinder block walls
and called it home, but
the word was slippery on
my tongue because
anywhere is a prison cell if it’s not
where you want to be. 

i scratched his name into
my wooden dresser
followed by R.I.P.
and that 38″ by 75″ mattress was
my lifeboat through the desert,
leading me to mirages I’d awaken from
with teary eyes and a mouth full
of sand. 

even the toilet paper
had my blood on it.
i would write love on my arms
in marker
to hide my scars,
but kept the ones in my 
eyes exposed
just in case someone could hear
the way i pleaded 
through the receiver: please take me
home, home, home.