i asked myself
for permission
to be as depressed
as i am
to really feel it
and accept it
to wave the white flag
and say
oh
here i am
okay
at work today
my co-worker talked about
a recent day she stayed home
from work with her sick dog
and how it was beautiful weather that day
but she was so depressed about the dog
she closed the blinds and
took a nap
i thought, huh
that's every day
for me--
am i depressed?
i hadn't really thought of it
as such
because i find not thinking of things
as such
renders them more acceptable
and you tend to believe things are fine
which is helpful in not feeling
not-fine, i find
anyway, i've been eating a lot
not sleeping and then sleeping a lot
mostly, just constantly horizontal in bed
or longing to be
in the semi-dark, alone
it's not bad, though
like, it feels good
it's a relief
so
how can that be depression?
that thing that's supposed to make you feel sad
or nothing
maybe it's not
what it is
is a bottomless lethergy
an inability to focus
or to physically animate my body
into motion
what it is
is piled dishes
and un-walked dogs
and waves of guilt
and people-fatigue
and not talking for long bouts of time
and retreating
and putting things off
i don't want to talk
i don't want to be with people
i don't want to be seen
i don't want to exist in the world
(not die) just not have a body
or brain for a while--hang them up like
a winter coat in the back of the closet
for summer
i just want this bubble i've built
of blankets and warm-bodied dogs
snuggled against me
a dark, cool room
with stories to be consumed for all the rest of time
and endless food and potential for rest
then, in bouts and bursts
i eventually always get myself motivated into action
i do the things needed to be done
and either do them because they need it bad enough
or because i finally feel the urge to do them
and then i give--i give all of myself, my talents, my time and more
i give it all away for free a lot
work without sleep around the clock
it comes off as easy
it's not, it's compulsive
i can't stop until it's done
it bothers me like a kick in the groin
a swollen mosquito bite itching under the skin
i have to finish and i can't stop until i do
i give everything
i ask for nothing, often, in return
and why
because i want to give
i want to make happiness for others
because i want them to think good things of me
to help them see good things in themselves
because i enjoy the work
because creating gives me purpose and joy
because i don't believe i deserve to ask for anything back
because i don't believe in my worth enough to speak on its behalf
and then i get spent
and i droop and dwindle into
the bed-puddle of a being that
stays put and watches TV
and pretends not to "be"
and feels like crying
feels it like a pimple pressing against a swollen surface
feels it in the throat, a scream
that never comes
i'm not depressed
no, i'm inactive
i'm in a stasis
waiting for the next wave
the next phase of my creative cicle
when i will feel brave and bold and full again
ready to give again
and then i will give again until i am empty again
and maybe one day i will be given to without asking
and maybe one day i will be brave enough to ask
and maybe one day i will be given to
and filled up
rather than
drained
and i wonder (and i doubt)
if that will help keep me full longer
or if i will still run out just as quick
but be richer
"rich" is such an empty word to me
i know money only as a need i work to meet
with hourly jobs because i fear homelessness and hunger
but not as an aspiration or validation of my creative work
still, do i not deserve financial validation for my work?
probably...but i'm too exhausted to explore the ins and outs
of that now
so, just shut up (me)
and
let me be,
puddle-y
though i am
i'll find my way to solid again
i'll figure it out
just not now
now i need to rest
i need to rest until i can cry out loud
until i can stand up
until i can speak
until i can bare to be seen
until i can hoist up my flesh and bones
and spirit into a form that can actively
be
just
i'm
not there
yet
now? nap s
for permission
to be as depressed
as i am
to really feel it
and accept it
to wave the white flag
and say
oh
here i am
okay
at work today
my co-worker talked about
a recent day she stayed home
from work with her sick dog
and how it was beautiful weather that day
but she was so depressed about the dog
she closed the blinds and
took a nap
i thought, huh
that's every day
for me--
am i depressed?
i hadn't really thought of it
as such
because i find not thinking of things
as such
renders them more acceptable
and you tend to believe things are fine
which is helpful in not feeling
not-fine, i find
anyway, i've been eating a lot
not sleeping and then sleeping a lot
mostly, just constantly horizontal in bed
or longing to be
in the semi-dark, alone
it's not bad, though
like, it feels good
it's a relief
so
how can that be depression?
that thing that's supposed to make you feel sad
or nothing
maybe it's not
what it is
is a bottomless lethergy
an inability to focus
or to physically animate my body
into motion
what it is
is piled dishes
and un-walked dogs
and waves of guilt
and people-fatigue
and not talking for long bouts of time
and retreating
and putting things off
i don't want to talk
i don't want to be with people
i don't want to be seen
i don't want to exist in the world
(not die) just not have a body
or brain for a while--hang them up like
a winter coat in the back of the closet
for summer
i just want this bubble i've built
of blankets and warm-bodied dogs
snuggled against me
a dark, cool room
with stories to be consumed for all the rest of time
and endless food and potential for rest
then, in bouts and bursts
i eventually always get myself motivated into action
i do the things needed to be done
and either do them because they need it bad enough
or because i finally feel the urge to do them
and then i give--i give all of myself, my talents, my time and more
i give it all away for free a lot
work without sleep around the clock
it comes off as easy
it's not, it's compulsive
i can't stop until it's done
it bothers me like a kick in the groin
a swollen mosquito bite itching under the skin
i have to finish and i can't stop until i do
i give everything
i ask for nothing, often, in return
and why
because i want to give
i want to make happiness for others
because i want them to think good things of me
to help them see good things in themselves
because i enjoy the work
because creating gives me purpose and joy
because i don't believe i deserve to ask for anything back
because i don't believe in my worth enough to speak on its behalf
and then i get spent
and i droop and dwindle into
the bed-puddle of a being that
stays put and watches TV
and pretends not to "be"
and feels like crying
feels it like a pimple pressing against a swollen surface
feels it in the throat, a scream
that never comes
i'm not depressed
no, i'm inactive
i'm in a stasis
waiting for the next wave
the next phase of my creative cicle
when i will feel brave and bold and full again
ready to give again
and then i will give again until i am empty again
and maybe one day i will be given to without asking
and maybe one day i will be brave enough to ask
and maybe one day i will be given to
and filled up
rather than
drained
and i wonder (and i doubt)
if that will help keep me full longer
or if i will still run out just as quick
but be richer
"rich" is such an empty word to me
i know money only as a need i work to meet
with hourly jobs because i fear homelessness and hunger
but not as an aspiration or validation of my creative work
still, do i not deserve financial validation for my work?
probably...but i'm too exhausted to explore the ins and outs
of that now
so, just shut up (me)
and
let me be,
puddle-y
though i am
i'll find my way to solid again
i'll figure it out
just not now
now i need to rest
i need to rest until i can cry out loud
until i can stand up
until i can speak
until i can bare to be seen
until i can hoist up my flesh and bones
and spirit into a form that can actively
be
just
i'm
not there
yet
now? nap s
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