sensing
something
is off
is it simply
from poems
not written with the sunrise
but instead surrounded by the setting sun?
or is it something far less poetical?
could it simply be
the chemicals in my brain
and my own continuing responses to trauma long since passed
and an inner monologue that rarely has words
but when those words appear
they are insistences that i am the worst
and worth nothing
not even an attempt at self-love?
the problem with my form of depression
is that i so rarely am able to conceptualize
the opposite emotion while drowning in one
so when i’m doing ok
i’m actually, legitimately, doing ok
and it seems bizarrely unthinkable
that i could ever be this sad,
and my actions reflect that;
talking with people,
energy to do the things i want to do
(and i enjoy doing them, too),
telling my therapist about the minor inconveniences to my day
and how i thought through them so well
and how i think i’m finally getting through my depression
intelligently
and healthily
but when the real depression hits
all that happiness seems so cheaply bought
and like i was never really in a body that found
energy
or enjoyed anything
(particularly socialization)
and i can talk myself out of any positive spin
and i can talk myself into any desperation
(but i’m still really good
and appearing fine
for therapists)
and i never really know how to go about
expressing
depression.
i know it’s trailblazing,
world-shifting,
to be honest about it;
i boast ‘mental health matters’
and boost ‘it’s ok to not be ok’
and i want to be the change i wish to see
in the world
but my deepest depression
feels private,
and i honestly don’t know
if i’m ashamed
by a society
that only listens to mental illness
when it’s already passed and gone,
when the recovery looks linear
and one can talk about that overwhelming sadness
as something from the past
(i get it;
it’s far less scary and uncontrollable that way),
or if my depression is actually just
private
feeling
to me
and only me
(or,
a third option
i hadn’t realized
until just now:
if this is what my depression does to me;
it sends me signals that i am the only one
to deal with it
as a way to separate myself
further
from those around me;
my isolation is one of the biggest
baddest
boldest
hardest
symptoms to overcome…
so perhaps it’s not society
or self
(or perhaps it’s not solely those two)
perhaps it’s the depression itself
telling me
to be alone
and lonely
and to perpetuate
the cycle
of never wanting to ask for help
so never asking for help
so furthering on the depression
ad infinitum)
a revelation
a eureka moment
about this desperate sadness
i feel
cyclically
without warning
a drowning…
but maybe this knowledge
is something
that might keep my head above water
one more
day
kipventures 