my knees are pressed against yours under this oddly shaped table. it feels strangely intimate, the pulse of your skin against mine and i wonder if you can hear the way my heart sings for you. your smile is easy on your face and it makes my breath catch in my throat when the radiance sweeps me off my feet easily.
your eyes are round and panicked, wet the way puppies’ eyes are. your hand is flailing anxiously and your voice is going at hundred miles an hour, words tumbling one after another and it’s almost endearing the way the child in you is still alive. i brush my hand across yours and pull it towards me, and the look of trust in your face makes me feel like i could do this f o r e v e r.
i would hardly ever call myself a damsel in distress except when the walls of the world threaten to snare me in its razor sharp teeth. the way you come up to beside me makes me feel so relieved i could cry. for a moment i feel like i want to grab your hand in mine but the look you send my way is enough to blanket the anxiety rippling through my veins. i settle for walking a little closer to you.
maybe our hands don’t fit right but i feel like i am holding the world in my palm.
singing to your flowers makes them grow better
dedicated to every person who’s ever loved me. it means the world. thank you.
failing doesn’t get easier even after seventeen years. falling still hurts like fuck, the way the gravel rips my skin raw open and the first gush of blood still nips angrily across my tingling skin and my leg is still as numb as the first time i fell. the pain is still as acute when i come out of the hall with the sinking feeling of i’m going to fail. i already knew i was going to fail but this didn’t make the blank paper and swimming words any better. failing is still lump in my throat that makes swallowing the news so damn difficult. every day is a struggle when instagram feeds and twitter timelines are filled with someone’s else success. i want to be happy for you but your brilliance is a reminder of everything i want to be but will never achieve. i want to be pulled up into honey warm hugs and have a shoulder to cry into and a chest to nuzzle and i want a hand to stroke my matted hair and lips to whisper it will be fine i still love yous into the shell of my ear but it doesn’t happen. i go home to a microwaved muffin and i jump into bed and pull the covers tight over myself even if it is only two fifty in the afternoon. when i come to at seven i am disoriented and the dark sky outside is starless. dead the way i am, not a spark of light within sight. i have my dinner (microwaved again because i don’t trust my trembling fingers to light the gas and i know that my kerosene tears would start to burn if i lit up the stove) and the house is eerily silent. i am left alone with my thoughts so i jump back to bed and scroll through my phone aimlessly. i see my little prince and my heart aches for the way he will always be happy without me.
ping ping ping
1 whatsapp message
1 instagram dm
i ignore the whatsapp message even if it is from s, because i feel like i cannot face her today. my fingers slip into my ig dm and the words that come next draw all the breath out of my throat: at least tuesday is over, right? that’s what you wanted! my heart is pounding sixty miles an hour. you remembered, i want to say, you remembered. the tears are welling up and my heart suddenly feels better.
2 whatsapp messages
3 whatsapp messages
4,5,6 whatsapp messages
i slide open the text from a. it says i found something, venus and i am too tired to say much so i type a ?. the reply that comes is swift: a picture of finger heart with my name on it and i am going crazy because i find it oddly endearing. i laugh.
i open up s’s text and i read it and i cry because it’s been six months since i’ve felt anything. and i cry and cry and cry and cry and
i’m still crying today because
i’ve been found.
not poetry not prose just word vomit. it’s been what, half an hour and this track already means the world to me. at first i thought that this was going to be inspiration porn 101 you are great and good and loved so don’t be depressed! because when has depression ever meant anything except Easy Mental Health Topic Everyone Talks About But Doesn’t Actually Understand or diversity quota to act like we care for the mentally ill even when we make fucking ableist jokes every day. but i digress. i have been crying at my laptop screen for half an hour because this is something. idk. it’s almost two in the afternoon but i am tired and speechless. give it a listen. oh, and don’t forget the tissues.
i think i am depressed, i whisper, as if speaking louder will make it come t r u e. i don’t want to be depressed, not when it means that i have the urge to cry over everything or if it means that i worry a hole in my lip even when i am too apathetic to do anything on most days.
they say that depression is a war. if the soviet union could make a comeback against the winning blitzkrieg tactics of germany, who is to say that my soul will never be free of depression? winning the war is of no use. some 70 years ago, my people were free from the shackles of colonialism. today i am still haunted by colonialism, and i watch the way colonialism still bounds this great continent to the rock bottom and it hurts to see my people struggle. we need no chains to make slaves of people.
victory is only ever sweet once. the bitter aftertaste never really leaves.
have you really won?
newton’s first law states that an object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless acted upon by an external force. it may be seen as a statement about inertia, that objects will remain in their state of motion unless a force acts to change the motion.
maybe this was what newton meant:
- depression keeps me gutted and motionless. some days i wait for mother to rip the covers off my body but it never happens, because i am a Big Girl who has to wake up on her own. instead i lay still and stop breathing. maybe if i pretend i’m dead long enough i might not have to face the world: too big too loud too much. it never works.
- somehow my fingers stay stuck on the twitter tab, no matter if four tests six deadlines seven thousand fucking expectations are looming over my head. nineteen doggos in and my will to die has not decreased.
- swallowing becomes so fucking hard when my skirt becomes tighter every day.
- no one understands when i say i am too depressed to eat/sleep/do my homework/continue to be a slave to the government. the glances sent my way are pitying and suddenly death seems to be a viable option.
- why does everyone make depression the subject of their mental health awareness project when they don’t give a fuck? i am not your token character to fill up a diversity quota. fuck off.
- how much force is is required to overcome the inertia of this body?
- i don’t know. i dropped physics.
the ghost of your lips against mine is foreign as it is familiar, not unlike the feeling of whispered forevers slipping out of your mouth when you think your hoodie is muffling your words. take me back to when you’d pull my sweater tighter round me and send me off with promises of /see you later/s, let me relive when you’d flop down beside me to scrub the dishes because no one else would, (the look in your eyes told me that it wasn’t the truth) so we’d wash away in comfortable silence, elbows bumping. i am a girl of the tropics, fiery skin freezing up over under 5°C air and howling winds, but you always thawed it when you shuffled closer beside me, body heat seeping into mine till my insides were warm and fuzzy.
i loved you. i fell in love with you. i love you. i fell out of love with you.