It is a guttural scream inside that no one can hear but me.
It is a million fireworks with their fuse set ablaze, waiting to light the night sky that is my soul. It isn’t darkness and sloth-like mobility. Not for me. For me, it is a spotlight on my flaws and insecurities, and I can’t seem to find the power cord to rip this truth from the wall.
My depression seeps in at moments when I beg it not to. Birthdays, anniversaries, or that Sunday you had planned brunch and a nice drive—guess I should have checked depression’s calendar that day. I guess I should have informed her that today I wasn’t going to put up with her sh*t, so she could skip the games between and just let me know my wants didn’t matter. Not now.
My depression is never geared toward a person or thing. Never meant to surround my entire world in its blanket of unease, but it does. It bleeds like I have been shot, all over my closest friends, my lover, my pets, for god’s sake. I try so hard to fight it but the fight comes in the form of silence. I do not know how to express that my silence is a gift and not a punishment. A double-edged sword where I end up on both sides, impaled by the feeling of wanting to scream out but being too embarrassed to share that I need help.
I do not know how to ask for help. This is probably the most intimate feeling I have shared in years. It isn’t “them” not helping me enough, it isn’t “them” not asking enough of the right questions or making enough of the rights moves. It is me; I stand in the way of my own sanity sometimes. I am aware of it, but just like the sun is aware the moon is on his heels, he doesn’t stray from his predetermined path. Habit took over from choice long ago.
Tomorrow, I won’t feel this way. Can I see the future? No such luck, but I can remember the patterns. My depression comes in hard and fast, from seemingly nowhere, and leaves with the same speed.
Why don’t you just ignore it?
I am unaware of how to do that.
Why don’t you ask for what you need?
Because in those moments I am as vulnerable as a newborn child, and asking for help makes me feel less than the speck I already do. Vulnerability hurts, and I am already hurting.
My depression comes in many shapes and colors. It comes in the form of insecurity. It rears its head in the form of jealousy. My sadness turns to bitterness and my mouth drips anger. But I promise you, I will not attack. I will not lash out nor will I blame you for how I feel. In return, I ask you not to blame me for how I feel. Meet me, both friend and lover, at the crossroads of compassion and comfort. Blanket my arms in your grip of empathy and love.
So today, on a special day when I am in love and all things around me are “good,” I don’t want you here, you are not welcome, and I certainly didn’t invite you. As these words appear across this page, I already feel you receding to the trenches you came from. So instead, I will out you. I will scream from the hilltops who and what you are. I will take your power away, just like you take mine, until you recognize who is in control.
I am in control. Even in the moments when I am not able to feel this way, you will never be more powerful than my truth.
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