OK

Going Sideways

I’ve forgotten what you look like
But every once in a while
I’ll catch a glimpse of your eyes
In a passing reflection
Your lips, your nose
All things I can trace back to you
I just can’t put them together
I can’t make them be you
Then I panic, I panic, I panic

I take a deep breath
Choke back tears and hold
The sobs down in my throat
Where I am wracked by the
Realization that I will never
See you again…and that….
Is going to have to be OK

— GLB

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Drifting

I find reasons to be angry with you so that it feels right when we aren’t talking. I’m watching you and your life move on while I’m standing right where you last left me. This isn’t about love. No, this is about something much more fragile, my best friend. Days will go by that we don’t talk, weeks. We recently almost went a month without a single word to each other.

I know that’s no big deal to most people but for someone who lead me through suicide and the early stages of my depression, when I was too afraid to be medicated. Someone that at one point, shared something so intimate and so close. It’s a big deal that I am growing apart from the person I held the closest to my heart, on multiple levels.

It’s easier to be mad at you than it is to convince myself that you no longer need me.

Smother

I laid in bed last night look up at the black nothingness of my room. I rolled onto my stomach, closed my eyes and pressed my face into my pillow, grabbing the ends and pulling up as hard as I could. I could feel myself slipping into whatever comes next, but I stopped. I stopped for 2 reasons: 1. Pure laziness. The strenuousness of pushing into the pillow while simultaneously pulling up as hard as I could at 3 am wasn’t something I wanted to do. And 2. My rabbit, Nyx. She is my entire world and if I was gone I don’t know who would take care of her.

She’s saved me twice now.

nyx

Hate you

I hate hearing how happy you are. Your granddaughter was born and I heard you cried from happiness…and I couldn’t hate that any more. I hate that you have any sliver of happiness. I want you to be miserable. I want your life to be as hard as you made mine.

My doctor tells me that I should find it in myself to forgive you. That if the thought of you upsets me then you’re still winning. But I can’t. I will never forgive you. If my family is going somewhere and we are dropping my brother off with you then I won’t go. I never want to see you again. I’m not afraid of you, just afraid of how I’m going to treat you.

My friend tells me that it’s pointless to hate. That it wastes too much energy. He tells me that he doesn’t hate. I’m jealous of him. I’m so swallowed by my hatred for you that your name makes me cringe.

I’ll always hate you.

Up at night

Dark_Room_by_ikiz

I’m not alone in the house, but I’m awake. Everyone is so far away in their slumber that they can’t hear me walking around the house, they aren’t bothered by my noise. I’m a ghost walking through the dark, barely lit rooms. Nobody notices me. It’s peaceful. A lonely peacefulness that soothes the want for interaction. I can move from room to room, I can exist, and it doesn’t bother anyone. Nobody to be annoyed by the creaky floor, nobody to notice me from the next room over. It’s nice to be able to just…be, without anyone else knowing, without bothering anyone else. To exist without having to bother anyone.

5 Reasons You Can Be Depressed and Still Love Someone

The Yeti Talks

People are always telling me about love, whether I want their opinion or not.  They tell me it’s amazing, I know.  They tell me it’s incredible, I know.  They tell me it’s something that you should always hold onto and do whatever you can to maintain such a wonderful feeling, I know.  They tell me that you need to love yourself before you can love others.  I don’t believe that for a second.  Love is something unimaginable.  It’s this feeling that shrouds you in a warmth, unexplained by science with no true definitive meaning.  When it comes to a sensual, romantic love however, it’s a whirlwind.  A whirlwind of pure, beautiful love. When you’re holding her in your arms, nothing but her matters, and that feeling, is all that matters in that moment.  Friends and family who know about my depression like to talk to me about it sometimes, and…

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