remembering depression
When she decided to commit suicide,
it was not bravery-it was fear.
Fear-thick and palpable as her heart,
drenched with uncertainty.
She's done the good trip
the pills, the insight therapy, psychotherapy,
cognitive therapy and every booksmart psychiatrists
plan for for her bent psyche,
Still...despair.
Strange word, depression.
It makes fools out of people.
A word so casually used,
as if every headache were a migraine.
Those fools are depressed when they don't get
a new pair of shoes, or have no date for a
Friday night.
They don't know her kind of depression.
The kind that curls you up, fully clothed
in the corner of a hot shower.
Those fools are depressed over running out of coffee
or having to drink cheap wine in an overpriced restaurant.
They don't know the kind of depression that causes her to
re-open the scars on her wrist that bled durning her last depression.
As she faced death,
she didn't wave a banner-
she merely saluted the pills that would escort her out of this cracked up outfit.
Then.....
She wakes up to the bright lights and gags as they stuff that fat garden hose down her throat.
Her world is veiled in a haze of white-
like a bride left at the alter.
And those fools ask that stupid question-
Did you accidentally take too much?
it was not bravery-it was fear.
Fear-thick and palpable as her heart,
drenched with uncertainty.
She's done the good trip
the pills, the insight therapy, psychotherapy,
cognitive therapy and every booksmart psychiatrists
plan for for her bent psyche,
Still...despair.
Strange word, depression.
It makes fools out of people.
A word so casually used,
as if every headache were a migraine.
Those fools are depressed when they don't get
a new pair of shoes, or have no date for a
Friday night.
They don't know her kind of depression.
The kind that curls you up, fully clothed
in the corner of a hot shower.
Those fools are depressed over running out of coffee
or having to drink cheap wine in an overpriced restaurant.
They don't know the kind of depression that causes her to
re-open the scars on her wrist that bled durning her last depression.
As she faced death,
she didn't wave a banner-
she merely saluted the pills that would escort her out of this cracked up outfit.
Then.....
She wakes up to the bright lights and gags as they stuff that fat garden hose down her throat.
Her world is veiled in a haze of white-
like a bride left at the alter.
And those fools ask that stupid question-
Did you accidentally take too much?