If I was honest
and you said,
"How are you today?"
I would say,
"Not okay."

And in a perfect world
you would say,
"Tell me about it."
And I would reply,
"I want to die."

And you wouldn't look at me
with those sad,
disappointed,
yet loving eyes.

You would say,
"That's okay."
"Just don't do it today."
"For me."

In my perfect world
you wouldn't degrade my feelings.
In my perfect world
you would give me an achievable goal.
In my perfect world
you would give me a reason.

But this is not my perfect world.

This is the.
*******. Worst.
world to be in
if you have a mental illness.

In this world
IF
I told you the truth
you would say,
"Nothing."
And I would watch you
walk away
with those eyes.

In this world
I don't tell you the truth.
Because it's better
to only hurt myself
and not to hurt you.​

Grey clouds before an autumn rain
sail in my blue-eyed view.
Cold air before a winter storm
filters through my lungs.
Sitting on this felled log
lingering with the trees.
Just waiting for the shift in seasons
to change the dance from rain to flakes.

Working with the mirror, my tongue cuts sharp words.
You look stupid
she says.
I hate you
she whispers.
She is me

Running with paper pages, my hands cut into paper.
You should die
she tells.
I hate you
she utters.
She is me

Operating with swift gloves, my fingers cut skin.
You’re fat
she speaks.
I hate you
she screams.
**She is me

I walk to nowhere
                                                         ­                        in particular;

walking through my mind to my soul.
I find darkened, thorny paths
used by demons                                                           ­           
and bright, soft paths
                                                           ­       used by angels.

-
But I take none.
-

I forge my own path through
thorns                                                   ­                   
and
                                                            ­                meadows
creating a newer journey
that none have seen
to an end that I could never
                                                           ­       believe.

~Except~

-
I made it there.
-

To an end with crystal waterfalls
running to a see through pond.
No dirt but gems, winking at the sky.
Surrounded by benches of willing trees
and boulders
waiting for a climb.

Roses dancing through the grasses,
                                                        ­       fallen petals form the road
thorny stems weaving protection,                                                      ­
walling in my peace.

If you find me then you will see
                                                  me sitting in the shade
                                                        or swimming in the water
                                                         or climbing on my friends.

-
Here.
-

You will find me
all alone                                          
in the place
                                    I want to be.

I feel the shame
Of hiding my feelings
Of wanting the actions
Before it happens.

I feel the guilt
Of hiding the actions
Of wanting someone to know
Before I do it again.

I've felt the blade
On hidden skin
On wanting arms
Before I choose to stop.

In good or bad times
look within yourself and find
truth behind the lies.

From online forums I’m told stories of understanding.
Sitting on a couch I receive trained validation.
Around a table I join the minds of similar people.
Songs scream of emotions felt.
Family waits for me to speak and hugs me when I do.
Animals sit at my feet and lick my hands.
I’m never alone.
But I don’t receive support from the person who matters most.
Me.

You ask, “What’s depression like?”

He says, “It’s like drowning. Except you can see everyone around you breathing.”
She says, “It’s like you are screaming as loud as you can, and no one can hear.”
They say, “In your perception of the world around you, it’s always cloudy.”

And it is all true.
Except when it’s not.

Except when it’s living in a body that has been taken over by a black, sluggish monster.
Except when it’s seeing the colors of the world and not comprehending the color.
Except when it’s your favorite food and pushing the plate away because you don’t deserve it.
Except when it’s an hourly battle between yourself and yourself.
Except when it’s a daily war between yourself and your reflection.
Except when it’s always feeling sad and not being able to explain why.
Except when it’s feeling nothing and doing nothing and being expected to explain why.

It is all true.
Except when it’s not.

Because depression is something that cannot be explained.
Only felt.

But how does a princess
tell her warrior,
tell her king,
tell her daddy,
that the dragon's cave
is in her heart
and she,
the talon wielding slave?

You took my heart and held it so
carefully.
You saw my soul and molded it so
lovingly.
You felt my body and loved it so
unthankfully.
You stole my happiness and threw it so
harshly.

Sleep: Day. Wake/Eat: Night.
Christina: Tail, Whiskers: Cat.
Curled up, human love.

My mind is
a Van Gogh painting.
Swirls of color
true to feelings
and full of truth.

There are shades of blue
and grey
and black.
They run together
in the feelings of darkness
and truth of depression.

There are shades of orange
and yellow
and red.
They run together
in feelings of nervousness
and truth of anxiety.

There are shades of purple
and pink
and gold.
They run together
in feelings of love
and truth of joy.

The colors run.
The feelings mix.
The truths disappear.
Into the mind
of the sick girl.
Who doesn't look it.

Thank you mom and dad
for not making me pray to
a God I don’t know.

Waiting in the darkened forest,
laying on the leaves and needles
just watching for my prey.
Talons of blood and fangs of sweat,
the nightmare shows it’s ugly form.
Shoot it down
one, two, three shots
until the glistening blood turns into a river
and I can soundly go to bed.

The tears?
They come and go.
With thoughts of
self-hatred.
With actions of
self-loathing.
Among the knowledge
that people
love me,
want me,
care for me.
So the tears,
they keep on coming.
Because the fight
of feelings
against myself,
for me,
never stops.
Even when I want it to.

My parents say things;
My friends, they say other things;
And I don’t listen.

Mom says she loves me.
Julia asks to hang out.
Dad holds me tightly.

I do not listen.
I cannot hear what they say.
I can’t feel their love.