i just want to close my eyes sometimes. you know that, right? and… my psychiatrist says he thinks i have depression, and i don’t know if that’s true or not right now. but sometimes, i do wonder about it.
i just want to cry sometimes. because i am here. because i am not here. because i don’t want to be here. because the people are too loud. and because my hands are shaking, and goddamn it, i don’t have time to be like this. i was supposed to be recovering.
but what does that even mean? because honestly, i am so good at being sick. but i’m not much for healing. for doing anything other than slapping dollar-store bandaids on wounds no one’s ever noticed, and biting my tongue. go on. i’m fine. i promise i’m ok.
because life is tough. and because this isn’t what the movies make it out to be. it’s slow. and it’s hard. and sometimes, it’s just forcing myself to take one more step forward despite the screaming heaviness on my shoulders. and sometimes, i spend whole weeks running backwards. and sometimes, i get home from school and just fall apart on the kitchen floor, because i still can’t believe it. that for the first time in my life, if you asked, i could actually tell you what i’m living for.
Ok, so a couple notes about this poem.
In regards to what I said about depression–right now, that’s extremely tentative, so please don’t take that too seriously. My psychiatrist thinks I potentially have dysthymia or persistent depressive disorder (essentially, low-level chronic depression) but honestly, right now, no one is sure.
When I talk about “closing my eyes” in this poem, I’m not referring to suicide–more just… giving up trying to get better, something that’s been on my mind a lot.
I know poetry isn’t always the clearest medium, so I just wanted to make sure I was communicating that. 😉
bolts of panic and underslept eyes. and i don’t really feel motivated to do anything, but i don’t have a choice about this tonight.
and my heart won’t stop pounding, and my thoughts won’t stop racing, and maybe i should have taken my as-and-when-needed medication.
and i can’t breathe. i can’t even think clearly. it’s been a long time since the anxiety has gotten this bad, honestly.
and i just want to feel happy when i’m supposed to feel happy. and scared when i’m supposed to feel scared. and angry when i’m supposed to feel angry. i want to know when i’m supposed to feel angry. i don’t know when i’m supposed to feel angry. i don’t know what’s going to happen to me.
because what if i do something wrong? what if i mess up for the whole world to see, like this is your moment. this is your chance to etch your name into a small footnote of history. so let’s watch as you fall. let’s watch, as you make an idiot out of yourself in front of everybody.
because they’re just using you. i’m honestly surprised you haven’t figured it out already.
I don’t really think this poem was written for a specific thing in my life–just my fears surrounding being supported in general.
there are so many words for this, but most of them are angry. so i don’t know what to say.
so i close my eyes, and i tell you it’s ok. i tell you i love you, even though i question it some days.
and i want to go home, only i don’t really know where that is. i want to cross the finish line and feel something like pride but how the hell am i supposed to do this.
i want to be more than a prisoner in someone else’s story. i want to get better. i want to be all right. i want to get the fuck out of this tower.
but the tower is my head. and the witch is my head. and the prince is my head. and i am my head. and i am always so much my head.
and sometimes do you just wish that it could all just stop. stop. right here. in this moment. because why do i feel trapped, why do i feel broken, why is this all too much to process. just stop. stop right here.
it would be nice if i could breathe for a moment.
Ugh, I’ve been working on this for so long, so it feels good to finally shove it out there into the world. I’m still not entirely sure if I can put into words what it’s about, but it’s like 12:07 a.m. as I write this and I am beyond exhausted from editing all these poems and working on a heckton of other stuff, so yeah. I am not going to get into that now.
vaguely nauseous. you hand me a couple mentos for old time’s sake, and we hide behind the vending machine in awkward silence. and i think i did something wrong, but i don’t really know what exactly. so… i’m sorry.
ever since this year started, our little group hasn’t quite been the same as it used to be. and if you’re not there, maybe i’ll never know how to explain it exactly. the aching silence and fading sentences, only interrupted by the vague thrum of the emptiness.
i created this mess. why don’t i know how to fix it?
vaguely nauseous. can’t eat anything at school, even with my friends. and something’s wrong, isn’t it?
don’t think about it. trust me. it’s only going to get worse if you think about it. if you follow the spiral like you want to follow the spiral. all the way down to infinity.
if you look yourself in the eye, except all you can see in the mirror is the monster. because all i can see right now is the monster. staring back at me.
Oof, I know this poem is really teenagery. But it felt like something I needed to write. Really needed to write. So yeah. I guess I can accept that. I’ve been experiencing a lot of crazy levels of anxiety of late, and this poem really embodies that–this vague, buzzing fear that’s always in the back of my mind these days.