walking depression
last night, the sun was gone
40 blocks i walked,
back and forth, searching for solace, trying to work the kinks out
weaving into the dark across uneven pavement.
soon 2am became 3am and 3am became 4am and the darkness kept consuming me.
i had to find a store, a pen, some paper.
i needed to find a park, a place to piss.
a fancy new pair of fluevogs
with black bows up the top
tortured me like midevial times
blisters begging me to stop, overdressed in black, i continued moving into the night merging deeper and deeper into the darkness.
when you don't know where you are going, a part of your brain wants you to return to the most comfortable and familiar place you know - typically home, a friend's house, a place you've slept before, but when returning no longer seems like an option, courage can keep you moving for a long, long time.
landscapes change when you're on foot, there is more possibility,
more to consider.
at the underground metro station earlier in the day,
a man with a heavy lisp and dark oily black hair greased down, tweaked his body toward me - looked me up and down, and gestured, "watchu you lookin for girl? um, don't know watchu you want, huh?" and once he'd visually had sex with me, he walked away.
so there i am in the night. i think about gun shots and gang bangers. i think about the kind of people i'd stereotype to be on the streets with no where to go and i think about all the places i could go. maybe a 24 hour restaurant. maybe a store. i was growing tired. or a picnic table. i need a place to sleep and a blanket. i questioned buying a blanket while my phone lit up in the darkness with messages, most containing things like, "Oh yeah just go, that's great. What the hell are you talking about? Where did you go? And why and what is happening?" soon it would be filled with fucks. "i have no fucking idea!!!!!!!" "Why are you fucking with me on such a fucked up level?" And i realized I wasn't trying to pick a fight, I was trying to move away from one. I knew I would have to go back and reconcile differences. My daughter was asleep and eventually my house guests would wake and I'd have to resume life as usual.
I need space. I simply need space. I've always needed space. Like an orchid, I know i have particular needs that must be met in order for me to survive. And even though I identify with weeds, free spirited things that grow where they want, I have too many conditions, too many variables and too much luggage to have such "freedom". My roots are more circular, self-contained.
I start walking north again. I watch the clouds. I see small pockets and finally find the Catholic Church. I go to the play ground, find a spot to sit and the tears start streaming down. I'm decompressing.
It is cold in the darkness. the darkness begins to grow. i'm staring at a building that should be able to keep me warm but i realize I'm an outsider; i have my first true glimpse of hell. It isn't about the emotions, it is more about space. more about belonging. more about a damn existential crisis when you can see the walls but you cannot see through them and only small pink windows are lit up, before you, with the smallest light known.
some gang banger walks by rapping; i try to hide within the jungle gym. don't fuck with me, i think. things are already far to "fucked" up for whatever that is worth.
at the core of what is wrong, there is me. i am not problematic i'm symptomatic. i'm coming down with a flu, the kind that permeates my bones and makes me realize I'm ill. i'm not living well and balance is essential. i started therapy. i sit on the couch and i leave feeling good, because for one hour a week, i'm forced to validate my own existence. and in the hour, it feels important.
i have great responsibility. i have a daughter. i have flesh and blood outside me. i take it very seriously, my being a mother. but i am not married. by all counts I'm single. partnered but single. i have to watch too many princess stories filled with endings that make me question the beginning. so many girls of 15 or 16 meeting one man, falling in love, and getting married a day or two after meeting. my romance stories contains a strand of lovers, whom, i all loved for more than a day.
unconventional, conventional. i exhaust from words. i am a fighter. i am.
and i'll always partly belong to the darkness.
40 blocks i walked,
back and forth, searching for solace, trying to work the kinks out
weaving into the dark across uneven pavement.
soon 2am became 3am and 3am became 4am and the darkness kept consuming me.
i had to find a store, a pen, some paper.
i needed to find a park, a place to piss.
a fancy new pair of fluevogs
with black bows up the top
tortured me like midevial times
blisters begging me to stop, overdressed in black, i continued moving into the night merging deeper and deeper into the darkness.
when you don't know where you are going, a part of your brain wants you to return to the most comfortable and familiar place you know - typically home, a friend's house, a place you've slept before, but when returning no longer seems like an option, courage can keep you moving for a long, long time.
landscapes change when you're on foot, there is more possibility,
more to consider.
at the underground metro station earlier in the day,
a man with a heavy lisp and dark oily black hair greased down, tweaked his body toward me - looked me up and down, and gestured, "watchu you lookin for girl? um, don't know watchu you want, huh?" and once he'd visually had sex with me, he walked away.
so there i am in the night. i think about gun shots and gang bangers. i think about the kind of people i'd stereotype to be on the streets with no where to go and i think about all the places i could go. maybe a 24 hour restaurant. maybe a store. i was growing tired. or a picnic table. i need a place to sleep and a blanket. i questioned buying a blanket while my phone lit up in the darkness with messages, most containing things like, "Oh yeah just go, that's great. What the hell are you talking about? Where did you go? And why and what is happening?" soon it would be filled with fucks. "i have no fucking idea!!!!!!!" "Why are you fucking with me on such a fucked up level?" And i realized I wasn't trying to pick a fight, I was trying to move away from one. I knew I would have to go back and reconcile differences. My daughter was asleep and eventually my house guests would wake and I'd have to resume life as usual.
I need space. I simply need space. I've always needed space. Like an orchid, I know i have particular needs that must be met in order for me to survive. And even though I identify with weeds, free spirited things that grow where they want, I have too many conditions, too many variables and too much luggage to have such "freedom". My roots are more circular, self-contained.
I start walking north again. I watch the clouds. I see small pockets and finally find the Catholic Church. I go to the play ground, find a spot to sit and the tears start streaming down. I'm decompressing.
It is cold in the darkness. the darkness begins to grow. i'm staring at a building that should be able to keep me warm but i realize I'm an outsider; i have my first true glimpse of hell. It isn't about the emotions, it is more about space. more about belonging. more about a damn existential crisis when you can see the walls but you cannot see through them and only small pink windows are lit up, before you, with the smallest light known.
some gang banger walks by rapping; i try to hide within the jungle gym. don't fuck with me, i think. things are already far to "fucked" up for whatever that is worth.
at the core of what is wrong, there is me. i am not problematic i'm symptomatic. i'm coming down with a flu, the kind that permeates my bones and makes me realize I'm ill. i'm not living well and balance is essential. i started therapy. i sit on the couch and i leave feeling good, because for one hour a week, i'm forced to validate my own existence. and in the hour, it feels important.
i have great responsibility. i have a daughter. i have flesh and blood outside me. i take it very seriously, my being a mother. but i am not married. by all counts I'm single. partnered but single. i have to watch too many princess stories filled with endings that make me question the beginning. so many girls of 15 or 16 meeting one man, falling in love, and getting married a day or two after meeting. my romance stories contains a strand of lovers, whom, i all loved for more than a day.
unconventional, conventional. i exhaust from words. i am a fighter. i am.
and i'll always partly belong to the darkness.