where did these sads come from?
why do they appear
in the midst of what should be
a happy time?
how are they somehow
related
to that happy time?
like i can’t let myself
get swept up in the moment —
i need to remind myself
in every moment
of joy
that despair
and tragedy
exists.
like if i let go
of the depression
that runs everything,
the glue that holds my whole being
together
will loosen
and split
and i’ll fall
apart;
and i just want
to be
myself
[someday]
[someday]
giving up on
one contest
for a guaranteed
expression
of self
giving up on
a new book club
(at least this month)
for connection
with spouse
with pup
with cat
with friend
giving up on
a couple of mornings
of poem-tidings
for sharing
my emotions
when they’re ready
to be written about
when they’re ready
to be shared
when they’re ready
when i’m ready
when
i’m
i am
i’d kindly lay myself aside
for a pup or cat or Kip
but the hardest thing i had to learn
was that my survival is their wish
sometimes i write extraordinarily dark poetry
and i kind of forget
once it’s out of me
how it could be read
interpreted
ingested and understood
by others
i’m just here getting my best and worst feels
out into the void
apologies to the void
for having to ever
absorb
this profound pain
i sit here
at my keyboard
wishing to hold the solstice
in higher regard
wanting a celebration
a consistent practice
an honoring of some kind
and i know,
i know,
that i have the ability to do so–
i have the calendar
and adult wherewithal
and resources
to make this happen–
but i feel trapped
by the depression
that anticipates
the worst
of time flowing by
instead of celebrating
our earth still turning
my lungs still breathing
our days still day-ing
until they
no longer
do
the sin of being me
is punishable
through inside and outside means
and my brain can only get so far
in forgiveness
when it’s constantly fighting against itself
and my body seems to cling to living
as it falls apart
and resolves towards innumerable lifetimes
and my soul only ever seems to
chill inside/beside
all this angst going on around and around and around
but the dark part of me
[brain?]
[heart?]
[body?]
[other?]
it keeps reminding me
that i am punishable
i should be punished
through some means
hold my beer
i’ll do it
myself
[‘if you want something done right,’
right?]
a big sad
an overwhelming wave
of the depression i know best—-
we should be friends by now;
i see them nearly every day,
but their company is always unwelcome
and puts a stop to any idea i had for my day
the worst part
of my particular depression/sadness/melancholia
is that it makes me feel
like all this writing
(which really does make me feel a little bit better)
isn’t
actually
worth
any
effort
at
all
chugging along
the energy it takes
to simply press a key
with a fingertip
expands
exponentially
and i start feeling
exhausted
the fits and starts and stops and hiccups
the pulsating of a pulse part of me wishes didn’t exist
the tears coming to eyes that somehow still can’t cry
the thousand-yard stare into the nothingness of existence
the loneliness felt even when i know so many feel this
and my best friend is sitting mere feet away from me
the vignette of darkness shading the corners of my vision
of my image for my life now
and this poem is taking too long
and has too many words saying nothing at all
all i want to write
is
depression is hard.
i can remember
being seven-years-old
and having such a hard time
swallowing one big multi-vitamin
while on our trip to florida
(so i wouldn’t get stick or anemic or something of the sort)
i have a visceral memory
of knowing it was good for me
but having the pill get caught in my throat
and no amount of water could ease the discomfort
that continued on down my chest
for nearly an hour afterwards
i probably cried
(i did a lot at that time)
and every day that pill seemed bigger
and the water less helpful
and i struggled and struggled and struggled.
today, i can easily take
one multivitamin,
five spiro pills,
a zyrtec,
a wellbutrin,
and a couple of other things, if needed
in one swallow and gulp of water
and nearly every time it easily goes down
i ponder what was wrong with me
at age seven
to not be able to take
one simple
pill
alone.
but this story seems to be lacking
an awareness of where i was at the time
both physically
and practice-wise:
not only was i starting from zero experience
of how to swallow anything whole,
i also had the average-sized throat
of an average-sized seven-year-old,
and i cannot go on
judging my yesteryear self
based on today’s standards…
but i know that’s what i’m doing
when i judge my past self
for putting on these coping mechanisms
that have grown with me as i’ve aged
and, more often than not, gotten in my way
but i was working with very little knowledge,
less stable hormonal levels,
and no real parental [or societal] guidance
and i also know
that i shouldn’t judge my today self
for where i may be in future healing—-
i still have to dig through the muck
and learn and grow
in order to get where i think i’ll go
so i guess what i’m saying
(to my own self and to you
if you need to hear this today, too)
is that ‘be kind to yourself’ is not just some
lily-livered
social justice
pansy-assed
liberal
sweet talk
in order to have more compassion
for yourself as part of the human race,
it is also
simple
factual
that you cannot judge yourself
based
on what you don’t yet know
or
how you haven’t yet grown
and i hope that helps
both of us.
what would happen if i were
completely and totally honest
about my bouts with depression?
if, when greeted with the cursory
“how are you?”
i answered “contemplating the fall of all existence
and whether that wouldn’t be a humane thing to do
for all the other beings that have to
live in the terrible shadow of
humanity
as it exists today”
instead of the expected
“fine, thanks! and you?”
and what if
during the winter months
instead of apologizing
i expected others to feel
my plight:
when someone contacted me
i wouldn’t say sorry
for taking so long to reply
i’d commend them for getting past their
seasonal
sadness
just to put forth this email to me
and make no excuses
when months passed
before an actual answer
was sent back
i wish i could answer honestly
when people do implore about
how my mental health has been
but
when faced with an actual, human face
i’m reminded of the love i feel for some individuals
and, honestly, humanity as a whole
(though our society has breathed a dire flame
into the heart of the hoard of us)
why else would i care so hard
about masking up in a global pandemic
and fighting for the rights of those
who are both like
and unalike
me;
and i don’t want to cause someone else distress
on the off chance they actually care about my own personhood
the way i care about theirs
(a crazy concept to me, to be sure, but one i can conceptualize
even if i can’t quite understand
from inside my own head)
so i say i’m great
sometimes a noncommittal “okay”
to let them know i’m not actually a constant bright rainbow
and i can understand what it’s like
to have a bad day
(or month or year or life or whatever)
to give them a space
to open up if they need to express
the thoughts they keep inside their own head
and never let out.
and it feels both compulsion
and need now
to be the person i’d need
but i honestly don’t know how i’d react
if someone like me opened up that door—
i think i’d still turn it on its head
and return the favor harder
knowing they probably need it
more
(so why can’t i read this back
and put forth the idea that
i might have written it
in response to my needs?)
(nah, whoever wrote it isn’t me
and needs me
far more than i need someone like me)
stressors
and calm, collected cuddles
anxiety
and my therapist saying she’s proud of me
worry
and taking every step to see it all through
kipventures 