"i love you
but i can't do this anymore"

she said softly with her eyes glued to his feet waiting for them to walk away

but they never moved

she gazed upward and locked eyes with him as tears dwelled blurring his features

only then
with a shake off his head
did he turn and leave

he needed to burn the image
if his blank expression
into her teary eyes
as a final goodbye

s.s

The problems I have are bigger than me, friend
They are bigger than you, than you could imagine
And bigger than the god you believe in

People keep telling me to be patient
But I have been a patient my whole entire life
There's nothing that this so-called-god has fixed

I have no faith in man or in god
Or the doctors that both of those come from
I only have faith in myself and the things I have done

God and man have hurt, stolen and crippled me
There was no exterior angel that repaired me
There was only me and the things I have done

How many pools of blood must I lay in asking, "am I gonna die?"
Yeah, I'm gonna die, but that's not up to man
It's up to me, and the things I have done.

we were each other's sunlight
shining brightly upon each other
as we give each other
a touch of earthly warmth

we were two celestial bodies
bound together by each other's gravity
revolving about a mutual coordinate
moving in universal synchrony

but it looks like all our hydrogen
has ran out and we collapsed
into a white dwarf—dim light,
no life, no soul, cold to the touch

we are running out of light
and you gave up on emitting yours
yet i force myself to keep on shining
like i'm milking stone, it's hopeless

An open letter to those who have dealt or tried or whichever with me during my depression and/or anxiety.

I wish I could stop. I hear that a lot. "Just stop." As if it were a switch I can turn on and off at my own will. If I could, I would've disabled that switch the minute I learned what the on was designed to do. If only I could stop if only I could

"Think positive" I hear that the most. I didn't think of that, nor did the twenty something people before you. As if I haven't dived into the deep end of positive affirmations for the riptide of negativity to pull me 20 times under. For every positive thought, my brain's defense brings up 20 reasons that the positivity isn't real or won't last, or my favorite, why do you even deserve to be positive.

I don't forget all the times you've said "people have it so much worse." I am so ungrateful for the roof over my head and the food I get to eat or the daily drinks I use to muffle the voices inside. I hate the privilege of having my friends and loved ones look at me through foggy lenses and lend me their advice. It comes from the bottom of your heart but it doesn't come from experience.

Oh and how can I forget how I'm acting like this out of attention. I promise if I wanted the attention, I would get it in a manner much more humorous instead of a pitiful pit stop of a parade I feel some of you think I am. I am not trying to guilt you or appeal to your pathos. I much prefer to evoke your happiness with jokes that mask the constant desire to not even exist.

Then it comes down to the people I've bared my mascara streamed, tear soaked, bare souled self to. I'm talking to you. The one who I know won't understand but I at least expect to be there. Because I know that when you only deal with it once a month it isn't a problem, take some asprin and put a tampon in and it's over before you know it. God forbid this curse drowns me for a week or two or three. I'm sorry to put a damper on your life. The one where you chant the positives and get on with it. You have the choice to leave. I don't.

I don't surrender to this illness. "I'm not a vicitm" I repeat constantly. I'm not trying to make up excuses as to why it's okay to act like this. I fight every day for a little breathing space, and sometimes I am consistently losing battles in this civil war for my own mind. I apologize that you bear the burdens of being on the front row sidelines of this imax screening of my life.

You see, when the anxiety is over, and the food I haven't eaten for a week is molded now, depression takes stage. Right on cue. A constant back to back showing for boys and girls, it's fun for the whole family. But even like the longest movies of our life, there are intermissions. I sometimes get to step outside the theatre and am reminded that it's still sunny outside, that there is a fresh breeze. I can hear my own thoughts for a moment and they aren't trying to kill me. I am reminded that I have people I love and who love me, despite every reason I have that they don't. I hold onto that feeling and submerge myself so when the next riptide pulls me under, I can somehow find myself at the surface.

Sometimes I resurface with new or stronger allies, and sometimes I lose them in the battle. Casualties of war. Those hurt the worst. The people I love the most, leaving me to find the surface alone. It's enough reason to start the next showing. Like that, I return to my stage, my battlefield, my diving board until the next intermission.

Love, emotion, feelings,
such treacherous things.
                            you expect them to heal,
                            but end up wounded again.

Distressed with enough built up pain to hurt any who come near
Sobbing from dusk to dawn at the conclusion I will never be able to accomplish happiness
When others are deep in slumber I demand for it to end
Or wishing it never began
Yearning to feel that pain to divert the hidden pain
Content with the thought of vanishing without a trace