i lie down in the bathtub while the shower’s still running

trigger warning: depictions of depression


you can’t do it. steam chokes my lungs. an endless stack of spiral notebooks, all filled up with half-baked dreams, and ideas, and things i must become. i kill a plant, and find a crack in my favourite coffee cup.

oh come on. you’re being pathetic. i scroll through my phone for hours; and black out at 2am. i can’t stop comparing myself, and i push away my friends.

but… it’s not like they wanted to see you anyway. i’ve been wearing this same outfit for days now. and i wish i could tear my skin out like old carpet, but i don’t know how. so instead, i chug yet another caffeinated beverage. i electrocute this wayward body into place. and i will work myself out of the abyss; i’ll do whatever it takes.

but i’m too tired to give a shit right now. so i cry when i lose my keys. i forget to make lunch, until my stomach screams; too busy drowning out my thoughts in ripped-up sheets of paper, and furious journal entries.

so i lie down in the bathtub while the shower’s still running. because i don’t think i have it in me to stand up.

i grab a hammer from the shed. and smash my favourite coffee cup.

blood moon

the suburban lull slithers down my thighs. shattered dreams, shitty motels. broken teeth and downcast eyes. i want you to know you’re worth more what you give to other people, all right?

you don’t have to play dumb. don’t have to blink innocently. and no matter how they word it, you don’t owe it to anybody.

not the blood moon, clawing its way down the sky. not the parched book pages. not the twinkle in his eye. you are the aurora borealis; a thousand watercolour shades, bleeding down the sky….

lead blankets. a fuzzy guitar riff. and oh, sweetheart tell me why. tell me how you suck in your stomach, how you keep your head down. how you give up so completely…

welcome to the land of the reckless and the brave. where dreams go to die.

charybdis

the vicious current of my mind won’t leave me alone. but it’s fine. because the cream-white canvas sail will always be there, to hold me. love me. and promise, as i start to drift off, that i’m gonna be all right.

and it will sing its siren song. tell me it’s gonna be okay. and i’ll be so transfixed; i won’t even notice, as the stars begin to fade…

they told me not to touch the stove. and yet somehow, i find myself, gulping down nuggets of red-hot charcoal. candle wax dripping down my cheeks; nimble matchsticks lighting up my throat.

charybdis is hungry tonight. and you are oh, so gone

barely even putting up a fight at all. as she reels your wayward body in. as the shoreline takes your flimsy skeleton as its own. as your faithful sailboat leaves you high and dry.

and oh, my dear. i can’t believe you’re still surprised!

honeysuckle

you are imperfect. you are the wind in the leaves, you are the broken branches, and the buckling trees.

you are dollar store hoodies. you are old navy jeggings, and clashing teeth. embarrassing diary entries from 2015.

you are sappy fanfiction, password protected on your broken hp. and maybe it was cliched. maybe it was messy. but god knows, it made you so happy.

made you frenetic and crazy. made you shaking hands, made you quivering leaves. dancing around your bedroom to songs about turning sixteen.

because deep down you have always been the art of wandering through shittily paved suburban streets. of picking honeysuckles off the vine, and searching for something sweet.

and… i think that’s beautiful. in a way. think that maybe, if all i could leave behind were those simple moments of childlike joy… well, maybe that would be okay.

yarrow

i put myself to bed early last night, you know? wiped the tears off my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. and i dreamed of something strange, and cold.

got lost. in these long, winding roads, lined in an endless funeral procession of cornflower and yarrow.

and as the tendrils of smoke start to tighten around my throat, the chickadees beg for help. and i will try to let go.

try not to listen too closely. as the walls press in around me. and the monsters under my bed to scream, and shout, spittle dripping off their hungry, serrated mouths.

the riptide lashing against my flimsy island of blankets and pillows. a thousand empty sentences, and mismatched syllables.


Ever since I stopped seeing my therapist, I’ve had to do a lot of coping on my own.

I know that sounds sad, but honestly, I feel like I’ve learned a lot about myself, and I feel a lot more confident just knowing that I can manage myself, even when my friends are off their phones, and when I don’t have a mental health professional to turn to.

On a good day, I can do it. I can care for myself the same way I would a small child, with compassion, and patience, even when my brain is at stubborn and slow. But… on a bad day; when I’m so deeply consumed in my own mind, well, that tends to go out the window.

This is the thing with depression: you have an army of supportive, loving friends and family surrounding you, and yet still–it has this way of making you feel so alone; distorting your reality in whatever way it pleases. I’ve heard people describe depression a loss of interest in things they used to get pleasure from, but for me it’s more like I can’t remember, in the moment, what those things even are–and nor do I care enough to try and remember.

For the record, in no way would I recommend just trying to cope on your own before having seen a therapist. I tried using small mental health blogs (rather like this one, now I think about it) as a substitute for therapy for a very long time–and the fact is that reading this post will not help you manage your illness. Working really hard with a professional, for a really long time will help you manage your illness. I spent about two years in therapy before I started going it alone. I’m not writing off therapy forever, just taking a break for the foreseeable future.

Even if you can’t afford to see a therapist–which is totally reasonable–there are always crisis lines you can call to talk anytime, anonymously, for free. Here’s a masterlist, which should have something in your country. 🙂

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings