Sometimes I try to write
But the only word on my lips is love
And I just want to write it a million times over
And then read it twice as many

Not because I’m in love
Or because I long for it
But because for some strange reason
My soul wont stop saying it
And no matter how long and how hard I try
Love, love, love, love, love, love, love

It's been drilled in every poor man's head,
by a man only slightly less poor
"money cannot buy happiness."
But I disagree!
If you say that,
You have not watched your father scream at God at 7 in the morning,
questioning His existence,
as we get kicked out of
the second house that year.

I no longer find excitement
in new places.

You've never waited for the first of the month.
Every month.
In order to eat something other than spaghetti
and dollar store hot dogs.

You've never had your power shut off for an entire month
And watch as your family rips apart,
boiling water on the stove just to bathe.

Your parents owe everyone money.

You've never worked in order to buy your cleats, yearbooks, and school supplies.
Only to have your parents take that money, too.

You can send your vibes,
and tell me to think positive.
But the world is distorted!
Our lives are only better now because my family got jobs.

Before,
I watched a bulldozer
go through the house I grew up in,
as the bank sold our home
and built an auto-parts store over dirt
I used to ride my bike on.
The last pieces of my grandmother, crumbled.
My father stayed up every night
and slept through every holiday and birthday, since.

Is that happiness?

I contemplated becoming a suicide bomber.
Even took the class,
The instructor said “pay attention”
“I’m only going to show you this once “
But I was lighting a cigarette
And missed the crucial part,
I should give them up,
Cigarettes will **** you ...you know.
And then there are the choices,
What religion to align to,
Looking at the A la Carte religions,  
It’s so diverse.
One offers eternity in hell,
With some imp sticking a red hot poker,
Up your ***.
Another offers 70 odd virgins,  
Think of the expense,
Hair do’s, make up,birth control,  
And then, them all talking at once.
I’d almost go for the imp which was the least popular choice.
I was just looking for a woman in stockings,
Wearing heels,
Of easy virtue,
Who would lie to me,
And tell me I’m great.
Maybe that’s Calvinism.
So I’ve put these plans on hold.
Next week I might become a fireman,
I’m a bit fickle like that.

The slamming door,
The picture falls,
The empty seat,
The ripples on a pool.
The shiver of passing cool,
A little movement in the corner of the eye,
They are out there when they die.

The missing keys,
The car lights on,
The Sunday paper when it's gone,
My favorite screwdriver disappeared,
Hammer and chisel lost I know its wierd,
Even in fading light,  
I can tell they have been passing here at night.

In the the sitting room too,
My  alcohol is being consumed,
A rowdy bunch without a doubt,
I guess they have been all about.
And then the bathroom loo
My aftershave is gone too
Can't be true
Isn't it true Ghosts don't shave ?

They have no lengthening whiskers,
No 6 o'clock shadow just a shade.
Even if they waxed their legs
For some spiritual tango on their pegs
They wouldn't use an aftershave glaze
Just some moonlight shadow mixed with cloudy greys.

In the late night when I cannot sleep,
I walk the house in bare feet,
And wonder when my boys became men,
Looking as the soundly sleep,
Its Saturday night they clearly reek,
Of Bourbon, aftershave and feet.
No wonder the Ghosts they leave them alone,
Is it just me they want to atone?

my father died alone.
in a car by the side of a busy road.
a young couple,
returning from a day at the beach found him.
they thought he was asleep,
he had, had a massive stroke.

i went to his funeral.
as a stranger
and heard the eulogy,
of a man i barely knew.
we had been disparate
for over twenty years
and before that sporadic
at best.

i did not weep.

five weeks
and two days later after breakfast and feeding the cats.
i went to open the front door. to begin my days toil
my hand on the lock began to shake.

i broke,

i just broke.


and fell against the door in keening, sobbing, rending sorrow.
i slid headfirst down the white painted surface,
opening a cut against the doorbell.
collasped in on myself, huddled into a heaving heap,
pressed into the corner.

i cried pinktears.
all that day.

i stayed in that corner
staring, crying,
beyond thought,
beyond comfort.

ummovable.

beyond .. .

at that point in my life
i lived alone.
with the exception of my cats.
my misery, abject, so complete. so dark, so ink jetblack, so bereft of life, so remote from love so deep in repression, unlocked. so ferocious in attack, so outrageous in it's anger and sense of defeat had hold of me.

i had lost myself.

it is with pure hearted certainty.
i say these two furry little souls.
with plainitive crys of need and slinking warmth, curling heartbeats and insistent nudge of feline body.
saved my shattered, tattered, beaten soul that night.

i got up.
i fed my friends.
and then went to bed.
turned inward on myself
for two days more
this was my path.
bed.
cats fed.
toilet.
water.
bed.

i gave no thought to the outside.
to the phone calls,
doorknocks,
work,
family,
friends.

my apathy bordering catatonic.
i was locked in chains in stygian hell,
inside my head.

they broke the lock.
my two samaritan friends
and found me
a weeping shell.
guarded by two hissing cats. shocked beyond words,
they instigated help for me .

this was my descent into clinical depression

my acsent
back out of the bomb crater, triggered by my fathers death, was arduous and long.

two days heavy sedation.
two weeks close observation 3months at a sanitorium
years of medication.
months and months of dedicated therapy.( i still occasionally do therapy.)

crawling over jagged glass feelings
and rusted tin memories.
that would lock my jaw and break my back.
through slime and muck and crap.

i would crawl,
mentally, forward
and then fall away.
it was, excruitingly, painful.
but also,

redeeming and liberating,
to fight my way up,
back.
to open new doors.
to learn new ways
of thinking, seeing.

another 6 months,
a completed PhD
and an eventual move
of towns.
had me standing tall.

re-invented, restored more complete than before.

that is my history of depression

now eight years on:
i am no longer on medication.
(5years free weaned under Dr's supervision)
i met, married and had a child with the love of my life.
i have great career doing mostly what i love.

i am no hero, just a survivor.

i have a small ragged scar at my hairline,
a rememberance of less than betterdays.

i want no sympathy,
my life rocks.

i live life,
with love and gratitude,
in the forefront of my being,
each day an adventure.
some are blazingly good,
some mediocre
and some are bad.
but always,
tommorrow, is a chance of sunny.

i write this to encourage
those in the mental fight
with this disease.
to show that, there is a bright, enduring light.
beyond....

and to thank those,
who guided me toward,
it friends, family, doctors,
and furry ones.