The Memories of Yesterday

Flashes and then some light
I see a lamp
I see a shard
the hint of a beard
A new face of yours.
And I look back to wonder
At our times
When we were us
And the love it had 
And the memories of our fights.
We grew it all out,
A stage of love puberty,
To find our own ways.
I found the paths you didn’t take
And there ventured hence,
I found your breaks
The ones you never got
And some that I never gave
I wonder what I would say to you
Did we ever meet
Maybe I would want to smile
Maybe we would still just hate
I don’t know for sure
Whether to ask for or to give
Forgiveness that has been long due.
So I shall wait for the day
When we bump into a moment
Of ours again
To find out what it contains
Hoping to be done away
And put it all in a box so pretty;
the memories of yesterday.

A Prisoner to Time

I look for a bottle, a small one.

After a lot of thought and quite some searching,

a pretty glass jar with a cork was found.

Tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand, unseen

Delicate and strong, or fragile and young,

it depends on how you see it, really.

I go to the cabinet now – holding the secrets of life

in small tiny pills, some colourful and some white.

With all my raw materials I shall now sit,

creating a potpourri of pills.

I soon hold the jar, transformed and full

Each tablet unique and with purpose.

And as I finish my project, I’m calm, finally calm

My anxieties kept busy and distracted.

It’s so easy to trick the human mind

into believing a future (the irony),

with our present actions.

I close my eyes and savour

The blank emptiness that could be mine

Before I get up and walk away,

Stepping on glass, still a prisoner to time.  

-the positivity of black

From the Journal of a Person with Depression

April 2, 2019

My bedroom

Depression is contagious. I feel like I have the flu. I sneeze because of my allergies. Or something. I have a heavy head and blank mind. Thoughts are tough. And more importantly, thoughts are scary. What if the love of my life and I weren’t meant to be?

How am I supposed to face the fact that the one person who seems to be my anchor may also be contributing to my mood?

He doesn’t seem to understand, which is okay. But he doesn’t seem to try. I’m not saying that he doesn’t want to. He cares, he’s concerned. But I would appreciate if he went a few steps further. Maybe do some research, try to see what he could do, or understand what it is I am going through. No matter how much I explain, it’s not the same. 

I’m so so tired. Tired enough to feel unwell. I keep thinking of how good it would be to not be. To not exist. So that I’m not so fatigued. And I’m not being dramatic. It is not just sadness, or being upset. It isn’t. I feel like I’m being dismissed like it is. I know, because I did that to myself too. But I was wrong. It is more.