This is the first poem I’ve written since poetry class in high school. I don’t really use Reddit, so I’m not sure if this is the right place to post, but I wanted somewhere to share it.
TRIGGER WARNING
deals with heavy topics like depression, suicide, self harm
~
I fear people have become desensitized to the phrase “depression”
They hear it and assume it’s a phase that will pass. It’s not until someone has lived it, felt it, breathed it that they can understand the weight, understand the hate, that you feel for yourself, for everything, for everyone, only then can they relate. You suffocate: The stuff that you carry, the stuff you try and bury, underneath layers of fake, and telling everyone that you’re okay.
Your arms heavy, heart unsteady, your knees feel frail like if you take one step they will buckle underneath you, crumbling you to the bottom of the earth. You pray that one day you will muster the courage to disappear.
You deflate, degrade, berate yourself until you used up all the words out of the dictionary. You claw and gnaw at the fragile lines that cover your skin because nothing will change you nothing will make you feel okay but at least this way the pain isn’t just in your heart.
You tell yourself you deserve it as the alcohol burns your throat to the point where words become shallow. Your heart, hollow; drowning in sorrow. Gasping for air that isn’t there, you’re sinking, drowning and you don’t even care.
It feels like an anchor is tied to your ankle, pulling you down with the weight it takes.
Every mistake. Everything you do no matter the intention will be the undoing of you. While others live their lives you try and try to keep them afloat by breaking off pieces of you. But one wrong move, one wrong piece and they’ll turn their backs, taking your peace. You have to be nice all the time because any less than nice is a version of you they wish to not see wish you not to be.
They tell you to reach out when it’s swallowing you whole. When you have no hope. So you do. You tell every possible soul. You trust that your friends will be there to help you through this storm. But once again, you experience nothing but disappointment and you’re left out worn. They abandon you when you’re at your lowest. But weren’t you always the ones who brought them gifts, said the compliments, gave the advice you could only wish someone would give to you? You handed them parts of you but that’s what’s funny. Double standards: because when it’s their turn to care, they suddenly have no pieces to spare, not even the ones you gave them to wear. Because once the pieces are used to fix others, they no longer fit back in your puzzle.
They watch you, they see your mood change. They see your dark days. They know about your pain, because you told them. You told them you needed to be saved. But saved isn’t what they know how to do. They only know how to take and take until there’s nothing left of you left to break. They see your mistakes. The way you’re not fully there, the way you snap easily without a care. But now you’re falling apart, the simplest things irritate. Patience runs thin, you start to hate. They watch and turn away like it’s not their place. It’s not their job to analyze you; like fixing you means carrying too much weight. They see how far your feelings dragged you down, why would they risk it? Why would they drown? So they give you space, leaving you to be left without a trace.
You’re alone. You’re always alone. They make plans without you and then suddenly you become the reason their plans are unknown.
“You haven’t been wanting to hang out lately”
“You’re always locked in your room being lazy”
“You’re so angry all the time, you’ve been acting crazy”
Did you even ask me? Did you try to get through? Did you show me the same care I once showed for you? Did you bring me my favorite candy or ask to play my favorite game? From my favorite restaurants, are there any leftovers with my name? But no, don’t worry, I’m the one to blame. You all hang out, no “wish you were here” but it’s my fault when I want to disappear?
Friendship is a one way street. Say “depressed” and you’re suddenly too much to keep. You’ll be fine, they think. You’ve always been fine. But they don’t see your hazy days, the empty gaze, staring at nothing, your mind in a craze. They don’t see what you do to just be okay. They don’t see how many days, you went through alone just so you’d stay. How many times can you break, how much more can you take? Before there’s nothing left of you to remake.
Everyone these days has depression. It’s the way of life. So they brush over it, no empathy to be spared, no stories to be shared because they’ve healed from theirs. They hear you say you’re suicidal, but they think you’re being dramatic. The signs weren’t there. Of course they’re not, not when I hid them behind a mask not laid out to bare; so to not make you worry. But then I tell you my story. All the roads I’ve paved. The attention I so desperately chased. Not because I seek to be seen but because I craved to be saved. How could I want to die when I barely even lived? Living a life that I struggled to give, the love, the care, the joy it needed to forgive.
So no depression is not just a phrase, not just a phase. It follows you like a shadow, turning your mind into a maze. You want to be okay. You’re tired. You’ve hit your limit. You called out for help. What more can you do for yourself? What more can you do when you can’t even save yourself from you?