I think I’ve become scared of everything I will be. Everything inside of me, all that’s left are dreams. How do you get these things to leave I’ll think.
I know how. I know how.
Here’s a way. We’ll try this way. A drink or two. Do you smoke they say.
We do what we have to to stop it from happening. It’s an it. My kid asked me the other day why they made that movie about the clown the name ‘It.’ I didn’t have an answer.
What’s more scary than ‘it?’ It makes you cry, you don’t know why. Even wine doesn’t bring a smile to these eyes. I’ll drink a little. I’ll drink a bit. We’ll see if we can drown this it out. It never works.
I’ve found an answer, a solution that works for me. It blocks the dreams and they wait for me outside the line of my bedroom shrine. I feel them creep as my toes cross from the safety I’ve made here. But it’s ok. I’ll be ok. Bring on those dreams. Who needs rest.
“I’d have to say the most anxiety-laden moment in a Black person’s experience at a predominantly White church is when the person in the pulpit says, “Turn and greet your neighbor and tell them you’re glad they’re here.”
Black person: Will they say hi? Will they look me in the eye? Will they shake my hand? Will they smile at me? Do they see me? Are they hoping I’ll not turn around? Do they know how petrified I am right now? Am I welcome here? Am I safe?”
“I don’t view depression as waves, at least not for me. My depression feels like white flakes in a snow globe and are activated when something shakes me to my core. I become the center and the space around me becomes my world, a world I cannot see. While blinded I…
I figured out what rain was when I walked beneath your cloud. I walked around and saw droplets falling without a single sound. I knew I had found your sadness when tears washed upon my eyes. They felt like my tears feel when I cry sometimes. That’s when I realized we were crying as one. It wasn’t rain at all I felt, I was standing under the sun.
I don’t view depression as waves, at least not for me. My depression feels like white flakes in a snow globe and are activated when something shakes me to my core. I become the center and the space around me becomes my world, a world I cannot see. While blinded I feel my swinging mood aiming for me like a gauntlet and I am the fool that has entered into it blind. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot escape.
It has been 17 years since I found out about my birth mom and my sister. It has been 12 years since I tried to kill myself the first time. It has been 9 years since I found happiness again. Through those transitions I have relearned my depression. Through those years I have grown to accept it and myself.
People always want to fix things. Fix your smile so it looks just right, fix your attitude so it fits your new smile, and while we are at it let’s fix your past so you can finally move on. Depression? Take these meds, a few more pills. Lay back down on this couch… aren’t you comfortable yet? Tell me about your problems so I can tell you why they aren’t really issues. Let me know all your concerns so I can explain how you created them. Men and women in white coats scribbling your life away in a second. Trying to find the answers when we don’t even know the question.
Depression settles at the bottom. It never goes away. It never “finally leaves.” When happiness slams the door who is the first to notice and peep their head from waiting closet? Who knows just the right words to whisper in your ear so that you question the answers you once had?
Feelings come like a shaking sun and all you can do is stand there in your crystal prison and wait.