(trigger warning : depression + self-harm)
I want depression to be as cathartic as it is catastrophic.
But most times, it’s just a motherfucker that won’t let you eat, sleep, fuck, read or breathe.
And I don’t know what to do sometimes when it’s got its foot on my neck and I’m helpless.
I want to believe that my brain tries to whip up dopamine molecules each morning. But it kinda feels like the neural Oompa Loompas were laid off . Do you know how fucked up it feels to be fucking immobilized by your fucking sadness? And dopamine; imma let you finish, but serotonin gave us the greatest disappointment of the year.
I want to tell my friends that they’re being too loud or too fast but maybe that’ll make them over-conscious and bum everyone out. Thanks a lot, Victoria. Now you’re fake smiling and trying all you can to make the conversation great again. And now I want to stay home and avoid all the talking, in general, which is hard enough already.
I want to get rid of the scars on my left arm. Self-harm is a topic I pretend to be bold enough to talk about when people ask. Then I get home and muffle my cries into my pillow. I bought a bottle of Bio Oil back in 2015, it’s still halfway and I know I should throw it cause it really didn’t help. But every time I look at my arm, I think ‘at least I have a bottle of Bio Oil in my drawer, I’m halfway there’ and I fall for that lie every time.
I want to ask my brain after a long happy day when the graph of happiness against time takes a big nosedive ; when the anti-climactic sadness is going to kick in. Only so that I can get into my freshly clean pajamas & my favourite ankle socks and beat the sadness before it seeps in. (side note: the only people who sleep without socks on are part of the alien race trying to infiltrate and annihilate us. stay woke.)
I want to drown myself in alcohol which doesn’t always end well, admittedly. But it’s that little hit of happiness, no matter how ephemeral, that helps . And I want to quit smoking but Lord knows how desperately calming that nicotine is at the end of a day that took all I had and then, more.
I want to stop running away from therapy and I want to go back to sleeping like a normal person. I want to stop crying till I’m out of breath. I want to get past all of this but the pain is so debilitating sometimes that I close my eyes real tight, bite down on my lower lip and wish I could disappear.
I want to be loved out of my sadness. I know this is selfish. But more importantly, I know it is impossible. I want to be able to use schoolwork to distract me like I used to but my impostor syndrome is so loud now and I feel like everything I used to be good at is a pile of horseshit now.
I want to tell you it’s going to be okay but I’m not sure if it goes away. It gets better. That’s the thing about cycles – you know it’ll come back round – to the bad but also, to the good again. Eventually.
But, no matter what happens boy, keep that motherfucker rollin’.