Free Write 10.5.17
Depression is a holding cell.
It keeps me confined to my mind
for something I didn't do.
It comes like the flip of a switch.
One moment everything is okay
and the next I'm falling apart.
I tell this to my mom.
She says, "Everything will be okay."
Every time she said it
it only made me feel worse.
She says, "Lets try therapy."
But all it does is give someone a reason to judge me.
They tell me the way I think is wrong.
They judge me for something I cannot control.
When I told my mom I didn't want to go
to therapy anymore,
her face dropped.
She began to realize that her little girl
might not be fixable.
So after crying in the shower,
the only place I can be alone,
I tell her, "Okay. I will keep going to therapy."
Her face fills with joy.
All her hope comes back.
She thinks I'm going to be okay.
But the truth is
I will never be okay.
I will always be that
broken girl with scars on her wrist.
The girl who lyes awake
even when she is exhausted.
The girl who has to plaster a smile on everyday,
but her eyes hold the truth.
The truth of pain.
Of sadness.
They ask me why I'm sad.
I can't tell them.
Not because I don't want to,
but because I don't even know.
Not knowing is really hard.
All you want to do is to
feel better,
but you don't know how.
All you can do is lay in bed
doing physically nothing.
But your mind is like traffic.
So many thoughts claw at my head at once.
My mind wonders to a different galaxy.
Normally I can block them out
during school,
but lately they won't budge.
They stick to me like leeches.
Terrible leeches.
They suck all the power
out of me.
I fear it will drain me
all i cannot handle it anymore..
At random parts of the day,
I space out.
Thinking of ways to end it.
End the pain.
End the misery.
End the numbness.
End it all.
I just want to be
happy.
Why is something so simple
so difficult?
But for now,
I will make my mum happy.
Say therapy helps.
Say I'm happy.
But I don't know how
much longer
I can do this.
Play this person who
isn't me.
It's becoming
Impossible.
At this point
I'm used to it.
The shitty feelings.
And sometimes
no feelings at all.
Life isn't for everyone.
Including me.
It keeps me confined to my mind
for something I didn't do.
It comes like the flip of a switch.
One moment everything is okay
and the next I'm falling apart.
I tell this to my mom.
She says, "Everything will be okay."
Every time she said it
it only made me feel worse.
She says, "Lets try therapy."
But all it does is give someone a reason to judge me.
They tell me the way I think is wrong.
They judge me for something I cannot control.
When I told my mom I didn't want to go
to therapy anymore,
her face dropped.
She began to realize that her little girl
might not be fixable.
So after crying in the shower,
the only place I can be alone,
I tell her, "Okay. I will keep going to therapy."
Her face fills with joy.
All her hope comes back.
She thinks I'm going to be okay.
But the truth is
I will never be okay.
I will always be that
broken girl with scars on her wrist.
The girl who lyes awake
even when she is exhausted.
The girl who has to plaster a smile on everyday,
but her eyes hold the truth.
The truth of pain.
Of sadness.
They ask me why I'm sad.
I can't tell them.
Not because I don't want to,
but because I don't even know.
Not knowing is really hard.
All you want to do is to
feel better,
but you don't know how.
All you can do is lay in bed
doing physically nothing.
But your mind is like traffic.
So many thoughts claw at my head at once.
My mind wonders to a different galaxy.
Normally I can block them out
during school,
but lately they won't budge.
They stick to me like leeches.
Terrible leeches.
They suck all the power
out of me.
I fear it will drain me
all i cannot handle it anymore..
At random parts of the day,
I space out.
Thinking of ways to end it.
End the pain.
End the misery.
End the numbness.
End it all.
I just want to be
happy.
Why is something so simple
so difficult?
But for now,
I will make my mum happy.
Say therapy helps.
Say I'm happy.
But I don't know how
much longer
I can do this.
Play this person who
isn't me.
It's becoming
Impossible.
At this point
I'm used to it.
The shitty feelings.
And sometimes
no feelings at all.
Life isn't for everyone.
Including me.
Is this really how you think, or is this just a piece written to meet the free write? I hope not. Sometimes it is hard to differentiate between the moment and the assignment. I am not sure about the form this takes, as I think it is more story-telling and less, poetic, but in the eye of the beholder....Keep trucking.
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