Explaining my depression to my mother: A conversation

Mom, my depression is a shapeshifter,
One day it's as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear,
The next it's the bear.

On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone,
I call the bad days "the Dark Days".

Mom says try lighting candles,
But when I see a candle I see the flicker of a flame,
Sparks of a memory younger than noon.
I am standing beside her open casket
It is the moment that I learn everyone I will ever come to know will someday die.
Besides Mom, I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem.

Mom says I thought the problem was that you can't get out of bed.

I can't, anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house inside of my head.

Mom says where did anxiety come from?

Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party.

Mom, I am the party, only I'm a party I don't want to be at.

Mom says why don't you try going to actual parties, see your friends.

Sure, I make plans, I make plans I don't want to go to.
I make plans because,
I know I should want to go,
I know sometimes I would have wanted to go.

It's just not that fun having fun when you don't want to have fun Mom.

You see Mom each night,
Insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light.
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company.

Mom says try counting sheep,
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake.

So I go for walks, but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists.

They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me that I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness that I cannot
Baptize myself in.

Mom says happy is a decision,
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg.

My happy is a high fever that will break.

Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying.

No, Mom I am afraid of living.

Mom, I am lonely.

I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely?
The lonely into busy.

So when I say I've been super busy lately,
I mean I've been falling asleep on the couch watching Sports Center
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed.

But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city.

My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves.

The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with the echoes of a heartbeat.

But I am just a careless tourist here
I will never truly know where I have been.

Mom still doesn't understand
Mom, can't you see

That neither can I.

I get out,
And it's dark,
I can hear her whispering.
The darkness sheds,
And my heart seems to fade,
With each step I make,
Her shadow follows me,
I can't escape.
Where's my light?
I come home,
And she's redecorated the house again.
The rooms look the same but are rearranged,
Or do they look different but still in the same space?
I can feel her sink in and embed herself in my skin,
And I try to take a shower,
And I try to scrub as hard as I can to wash her away,
And I can feel my body cry and scream,
Telling her to leave,
As if depression could leave when you asked for it to leave,
But she just stays.
She stays.

And with my final words,
I tell her,
"Depression, please go away."

The new moon rises,
And the day has just end,
Here I come to my pillow,
And a worry filled bed.
The trees sing with the wind,
The wind floats and swims through the leaves,
My mind is ready to commit sin.
I must be insane for doing this again.

A lavender bed,
Where we were to lie in,
The soft green carpet,
That would tickle our feet,
Seems a bit expensive to keep.
The trees, they weep,
Because the birds sing,
They sing of their missing bird.

A hungry pup sits on the porch,
Forgets its appetite in hopes of its friend coming back.
The pup grows old,
And thunder appears one day.
The pup goes inside.
The pup whimpers,
Sad because its friend is not there to comfort it.
Poor pup.

3 years have passed,
The pup is a full grown dog.
The birds have stopped singing,
The trees have stopped weeping.
Pup no longer waits,
But just sleeps.

The bird comes back,
With a new tune,
The full grown dog,
Recognizes the voice.

"It's been so long",
Said the dog.
"What took you so long?"

"I got sidetracked,
And needed to see the world."
Said the bird.

"I wish you came back sooner."
The dog says as it takes its last breath.

The bird chirps their song,
And finally says,
"I wish I did too."

She managed to forge her way through my forest of tainted leafed thoughts,
Torn ****** memories,
And a ripped, corrupted bible,
She became the book I could read over and over,
While expecting a different result,
Am I insane?
The soft pillows of her smile crawled all over my body and landed on my collarbone, hipbone, chest, and forehead.
The small wrinkles I have around my eyes and smile seemed to always let her in,
Even when she's never asked to come in.
The curves I have fit perfectly into the cups of her sweet nourishing hands.
She left her fingerprints on me.
I swear I didn't see them sink in.
I don't know how they got there.
She left her thoughts in me.
I swear I shredded them.
I don't know how they got there.
How would I know that she could ruin me?
Her fingertips would fly across the frets and I'd sit there idly, wondering why she let me stay there.
The tips of her hair would reflect against the sun's rays and I would think they were little snowflakes.
She was the dark midnight sky,
And the trees would sway in awe because of  her pulchritude.
She was harmonious,
The way she blinked with her dark straight lashes fit uniquely with the way she stepped on the cracked, root showing, LA pavement.
The way she spoke and the way her lips moved made you wonder if she was singing.
And if she was singing,
Could she sing your name?
The way she wrote and the letters that were painted made you wonder if she was an artist,
If only she could sketch you.
The way she breathed with the slight sighs,
Made you want to breathe the way she did.
She made you want to write poetry.
And that all made you uncomfortable.
You wish you could just hit the restart button and have no saved changes.
You wish you could have just removed the tangling thoughts of her that slithered into your head.
You wish you could just walk away without second thoughts.
But there's only a tiny part that wants that.
Only a tiny part of this points to heart
Wishes she'd never existed.
The rest would let her slowly make your mind intact,
Even when you know that's not possible.
The rest would give up nights only to think if she was thinking of you too,
The rest would give up sleep so she'd have the best sleep ever.
The rest would stay up lonely, so she wouldn't be.
The rest would let itself be the paper she'd scribble on about how she wants to leave this dead end town.
The rest would do anything.
Anything for her.
Always.
I swear I don't know how this happened.
I didn't think she'd mess me up.

I feel your skin,
And taste your lips,
I see your eyes,
I hear your words,
I smell your hair,
You always linger on my clothes,
I hear your steps,
Walk along an empty broken road,
I hear your voice faintly yell,
My name,  
I think that's where I'll go,
I rush and run,
Wait for me,
I say,
Don't leave me behind,
I don't know what I'll do,
If you say you're not mine,
Look at your watch,
It's not time to go,
Just wait a little longer,
I'll come home soon,
This poem is a *******,
And I can't help but cry,
I can't help, but wonder why.
I wonder how much time you got,
And wonder if I steal some,
I wonder how long you'll stay,
On my empty path,
Full of cracks and shatters,
I wonder if you smell me when you're home alone,
Or if you hear my voice,
Laughing at what you'd think I'd find funny,
I wonder if every song reminds you of me,
I wonder if you think of me while doing laundry,
I wonder if I'm constant thought,
Or an occasional event,
I wonder if you want to scream my name,
When you break a dish,
I wonder if you touch your lips,
While thinking there's something amiss,
I wonder if you picture me in bed,
With me wrapped around your arms,
Do you want to be wrapped around mine?
Because that's fine,
More than fine with me.
I've felt your skin,
And tasted your lips,
I've seen your eyes,
And now I wonder why,
I heard your words,
And smelled your hair,
But now wonder why you linger there,
I hear your steps,
Walk along an empty broken road,
I hear your voice faintly yell,
My name,
Yet there's no one when I turn,
I'm going crazy,
That must be it,
It has to be a lie,
But for once,
I actually thought someone might have wanted me in their life.

My physical canvas is blank,
But my body is tattered with paint,
A mixture of the blue and green you made,
I know I should've given you a reason to stay.
I look at the street lamps,
That make me think of your eyes that soak in the light,
I wish I could wash away my old colors,

But I can't help but be the moth attracted to your distracting light.
I know I should've given you a reason to stay.
I know I should've given you a reason to stay.
Please stay.

No one gets this.
No one will ever understand.
We are who we are.
We know what we know.
People may think that they know how we feel.
They may think they know what it's like to have your breath taken away from someone who hasn't pressed their lips against yours.
They may think they know how it feels to stay up at 2 AM,
Writing about how your heart keeps breaking  but that person seems to stitch it up each time,
No one will ever understand that I sometimes feel like an item of clothing that seems to rip a little more and more each time,
No one will ever understand that I need to breathe,
And that this polluted LA city keeps ******* me into its black hole of non-existence.

Tomorrow, I will sing a song,
Tie every note,
and sing as if it were the epitome of beauty,
Tomorrow, I will sing a song,
Full of he said, she said,
Full of me wanting to believe,
in my so-called reality,
Tomorrow,
During noon,
the wind's grasp upon me will be cold,
like the nostalgia I have for last year,
Cold,
like how I've been imagining their words,
if they were spoken to my face,
rather than read through text,
Tomorrow,
Predictably,
I will sing the saddest song,
A song that reeks of blue,
and looks like a mixed emotion,
sounds like a cliche,
I know,
The lyrics will be about distance,
how they kidnapped my favorite person away from me,
How the moon still feels lonely,
even when the sun comes up,
and glances at the moon for a second,
because though the great big star rises,
the moon is still alone,
people sleep and don't pay attention to the beautiful blank moon,
but when the sun comes up,
everyone's out and about,
The moon is the definition of solitude,
a poet once explained how my soul is not satisfied,
and it is true,
I have cursed at the stars that do not comfort the moon,
for the moon seeks comfort,
not neglect,
I can hear the moon speak to itself,
saying,
I might've loved the sun,
I might've not,
oh, but how I loved the sun,
yesterday,
let me go back to yesterday,
So the moon can spend its last night under the bright stars,
dancing by herself,
So the gentle whisper of the wind will feel like a soft touch,
rather than a punch in the stomach,
Yesterday,
Let me go back to yesterday,
To when the moon speaks her last fluttery words of her joy, the sun,
Yesterday,
To when I wrote my last poem,
With the cold hands I bared,
when I carved the name of the sun onto an ice cube that could not melt into my aching pores,
yesterday,
it feels like today,
Let me prepare for tomorrow's song,
For the moon,
Until then,
I'll stay here in today.

So,
There she was,
Holding my hand,
Whispering words,
About love & sin,
Happy as can be,
She took both of my hands,
And she let them fall down (once again),
So,
There I was,
Empty hand & hand,
I turned around to find her,
But it seems I'm lost again,
So,
It's the end,
The end again,
Oh, again.
Why'd it happen again?
The End.

Oh,
Little does she know,
And little does she see,
She's the one I want,
And I want to be with her for eternity,
And I,
Can't find my place,
But she seems to be the space,
I want to be in,
Lord, lord,
Now,
Help me now,
I can't believe she picked me,
Oh,
She picked me,
Why did she pick me?
Oh,
*She picked me.

So I thank you,
For all your frowns and smiles,
Your hugs and your blue eyed tiles,
I thank you.
I thank you,
Not because you pick me up,
But because I feel emotions with you,
I heard that,
Your soulmate is not the one who makes you the happiest,
But the one who feels the most,
You may be my soulmate.
Being a soulmate doesn't mean being involved romantically,
It just means we fit.
Like peanut butter and jelly.
So I thank you.
For your quirky jokes,
And cute gestures to say "good job",
I thank you for your hands,
That held me,
From falling apart too easily,
However,
You are leaving,
Yes,
I know.
It was bound to happen,
Yes,
I know.
We could never be more than friends,
Yes,
I know.
But, still,
I thank you.
I thank you for making me able to adore you,
such a cute person,
Such an adorable personality,
I'm completely infatuated.
Thank you.
Thank you.

A ripple in a calm lake,
My almost constant headache,
Almost because it's only when we talk,
via Facebook,
And few words spoken,
Eye to eye,
Headache,
Because I almost pull my hair out,
From her lack of words of her own,
While I ramble on,
Like this poem,
A foreign country,
But somehow feels like my bed,
Same butterfly-printed blankets,
White linen sheets,
And purple pillow,
A brown-eyed girl.

There's something about being sad that does something to someone,
Whether you don't eat,
Or over eat,
Or you sigh stupidly so,
Or feel as if you're being strangled,
On the verge of just gasping for air,
Sadness isn't just "nothing",
There are certain things that cause sadness,
Grief,
despair,
Melancholy,
Many of which are pretty common,
Heartache,
Dead relatives,
Self-esteem,
I could go on forever,
But I'm not talking about what causes sadness,
But rather the threshold,
Of when you get the sickness called "depression",
Or the "blues",
You feel lost,
Yet - you know why you're in that certain state,
You feel empty,
But yet you're feeling something -
Vast emptiness,
You feel insecure,
Yet for some ******* reason,
You're okay with your insecurity,
And would rather live with it,
Than change it,
Because change scares you,
I would rather be a pebble in a garden,
Than a rose amongst many others,
I will always be small,
and known to everyone,
Without much appreciation,
Without much interest,
A dime,
A dozen,
Being sad ******* *****,
Because I always feel like this,
After catching the repugnant disease,
Sadness,
I don't think I have depression,
But it hurts,
It hurts so bad to be sad.
It hurts so bad.
I am sad.

Ripped, old,
Jeans to hide,
Hide all insecurities,
Ripped, old,
Jeans.

Je suis une figure.
Malheur, moche,
Je suis une figure,
La Figure.

A simple hi,
A simple wave,
A simple love.

Takes a picture of oneself,
And deletes it.

I do not seek comfort,
Or company,
Leave me to be,
Let me be sad.

Throw it in the well,
Throw it deep into the very put of the well,
Where it can drown,
And scream the silent cries,
Where it can replenish the water of its feelings,
Its emotions.