Disconnected

I started this last year so let’s do this again this year.

them: u can’t just cut away ppl like that

…It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

When you have depression, it’s like you’re living on the sidelines. You’ll start off by feeling empty. Maybe it’s just a bad day or maybe there was something funky in the enchiladas you had earlier that afternoon. It’s ok. You know you’ll sleep and wake up feeling just fine. The next day, week, month… nothing changes. You start to loose focus. Your memory flits in and out like its bored of being stuck inside you all the time. You’ll catch yourself being someone else and then wave it off. Just another bad day, you say. Life will so kindly pause for you, only to speed up so fast that you’re lost. Left behind as you realize everyone else had been moving forward the whole time. You see other people and you walk the other way. They don’t care about you. The world is an unforgiving place. In fact, no one cares about you. You’re one small person in a big word. You can stay in bed and no one will notice. It’s ok to fail your classes. You’d never amount to anything anyway. Then something brings you halfway to the surface and you realize that you’re not ok. You need to get better because that crumb of will left in you says so. You exercise, write poetry, meditate, and whatever the fuck else Google says will make you alright. None of it works. You tell someone what’s happening and they wave you off. They don’t know what it’s like. To them, you’re an ungrateful, attention seeking hermit. You tell your mom as if she would believe you. You shouldn’t have been so naive. She’s not like dad. You call dad. A machine answers the phone. You’re so stupid for thinking he would pick up four years after you scattered his ashes in the park. Your life is horrible. You cut yourself once. Maybe another cut. Then another and before you know it you have 13 cuts. The relief is so sweet. People see your wrist and they are repulsed. How did this all start? Then you remember you’re not the only one suffering and you reach out for change. But toast can never be bread again.

If you still have to convince yourself that you’re okay then you’re not really okay.