Just Under The Surface

I’m in a dark room. 

It’s cold, and hollow, and when I move I feel heavy. 

Panicked; I try to speak. 

All that comes out is thick, coarse air, my vocals ripped from my throat inexplicably. 

I reach my arm into the black emptiness, feeling nothing but more thickness, it’s like a fog. 

Then I hear them.

Faint whisperings... Telling me why I’m in this place,

“You’re not enough” 

“You make me sick”

“You’re a disappointment to everyone around you”

“They all don’t really love you”

The words keep echoing, getting louder until I can’t take it anymore. 

I try to scream, but there’s nothing there. 

I want to ask them why, why doesn’t anybody love me? Why aren’t I good enough?

But they don’t say anymore, just laugh as I stumble, trip, and fall to pieces on the floor. 

And I believe them.

A pain so excruciating it feels like my chest is about to rip open and bleed. My heart being imploded from the inside out.

My life falling apart. 

I cry out, but all you can hear is the air I’m breathing.

The hurt is so strong that my muscles feel like they can’t even lift my body anymore. One more breath and I will waste away to nothing.

What do I do?

I open my eyes, look at my computer screen, and get back to work. 

Eye Contact (Part Two)

Today was not a good day. I keep telling myself things will improve, but I just continue feeling this loneliness that I just can't shake. I've always told myself that I could be happy alone, and that being alone would give me the opportunity to get a good education, a good job, and to never have to rely on anybody. If only I'd known then how that would turn out, and just how lonely I would be today; I wonder if I would have felt any different. But, back then I was Janie: Strong, Independent Woman.

As I play back those words in my memory now, I just want to take a random side street and never look back. My apartment was never that nice anyway. All those years at university just for me to become a barista at my local Starbucks. All of those years and I'm still alone. More so now than ever. I can hear the small clicks of my shoes on the pavement as I walk silently through the night.

It wasn't so bad until I lost my number one fan. My father was the only one who truly believed in me, the only one who told me I could achieve everything my heart desired. Last August was when he spoke to me his final thoughts, told me one last time that I was the apple of his eye and called me his little girl. If I would have known that he wasn't going to return from that trip, I would have never let him go. I should have never let him go. I wanted then to run away and never look back, as I knew there would never be anyone to believe in me again. It was silly to even think about it.

I had come to accept the fact that I was now destined to be alone. I knew nobody could love me, and that there was nobody in the world who would dream of meeting someone like me. Walking down the streets full of spring time lovers who spread joy in every movement and touch they share just made it harder not to turn off the path to home and just run. But, I continued down the street, the smell of old booze from patrons of the bar a few blocks down floating through the air into my nostrils.

Ahead there was a crew of construction workers, each cocking their head toward me as I proceeded to get closer. I could already feel their eyes on me, as these men sometimes do, and panicked. I put my head down and turned onto another street, one not normally on my beaten path, and scurried down until I was sure that their eyes weren't on me. I slowed my pace to a walk once I was calmed enough to finally look back up.

And that's when I saw them looking back at me

Ballad for Love

With a deep breath, she stood in front of the mirror

Gazing into her own eyes, full of fear and nerves.

One more step, just breathe, she tells herself.

She puts her shoes on and departs.

Never did she imagine

The hardest part of love would be how others see it.

That in a world so advanced,

There would still be those who choose to break you down.

She heard about this kind of thing all the time:

Parents who disown, communities who triumph against,

But in the end there is always a river of support,

A crowd of those who are just like you.

So what makes her situation any different?

So, she isn’t against a gender norm,

Not deep in racial diversity,

These things that are typically known for causing angst

However; she is in love,

And believes that her happiness should soar above the hawks that are the narrow minded,

Whose unkind words bounce like shrapnel off her armour of pride.

To her surprise, there is a blanket of love all around,

Those relaying that happiness rises above.

Although there are always few who hate,

She has learned that there is more within life to celebrate.

So she stands tall and proud

Unafraid of fanciful consequences

For never was there a happier time,

than living without other’s interests at mind

Damaged Goods

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad, 

But it was so comforting,

She was fragile, and not handled with care by the last hands that grasped her, squeezing her tightly into the confines of his perception of a 'relationship'.

So, she arrived to you misshapen and in pieces, molded to his ways to the point where she no longer resembled the photo on the box - that was merely what used to be. 

But you didn't care about the physical appearance, and you saw her as she was underneath his grooming and lies, underneath her trembling skin, 

And you saw her mind as it was before it went to war with itself.

She saw herself as a nuisance, a dust-collector on the shelf that is life; trained to believe that she was destined to do nothing correct, and that for her to smile meant that she was up to no good.

But you fixed her.

Soon, she began to believe that she could have hobbies and friends, and that her love of cosmetics did not label her as 'just a whore,' but as beautiful in her own, self-expressed, way. She began to tremble less at the thought of partaking in social interaction, as you showed her that it is a part of life, and no suspicion should arise from a friendly, "hello," in the street.

But still, ghosts haunted her memory and lingered over her every day, telling her she wasn't worth it, making her feel dirty, remembering the 3am phone calls she'd receive when he just wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't good enough.

She could feel the dust beginning to recollect. 

But you always picked her up, dusted her off, and placed her as your centerpiece, because to you, she was so much more than an ornament meant to waste away in the confines of the dark corner shelf he had placed her.

To you, she had purpose, and you wanted the whole world to see her shine.

She then bloomed like a flower, you her sun. She was queen of the world, or at least her world, and you her king. In a world full of ash and rubble, you are her diamond ring.

When she contemplates the future, you never leave her side. And when confronted with the “what if?”s that may leave her without you, she feels empty inside.

So she sits with her mind, and a pen in hand,

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad,

But it’s so comforting.

The Sky

I've always loved the sky,
It's enchanting aura has always given me a type of high.
The morning shades of champagne, turquoise and blue,
I always have loved those hues.
As morning turns into day,
And the sky wears a mask of blue-grey,
I won't worry in a dramatic way,
Because I know it's not here to stay.
As day fades to night with a pale yellow,
The night animals let out their calls and bellows.
Flashes of fuchsia and apricot paint the clouds,
The birds sing as they depart in large crowds.
And as I watch the lavender, violet, and plum with a sigh,
I know now why I've always loved the sky.

Roller Coaster

My doctor and I have discovered that my depression is like a roller coaster that's laced with ups and downs, and throughout this ride, the downs get deeper while the ups remain at the same, safe level of content.

During my downs, you could say that I become suicidal, but I do not wish to kill myself in the physical sense that others find oh so attractive, where there is such finality and your suffering is over. 

No, I long to be that kind of dead where you are still living, but not alive. The kind of dead where my days are spent in my dark bedroom hidden among my abyss of blankets, no longer existing in the "real" world. 

The things that once brought me joy will be pushed to the back of my mind like a shoebox full of pictures gets pushed to the back of a closet, just old times that are long gone. 

The downs in this roller coaster become gradually more soul-sucking, and the days spent alone in my own sorrow seem to last the duration of an eternity, 

but then there are the ups.

Although the "ups" don't last long or climb very high, they are still packed with the typical feelings of a roller coaster ride - The nervousness as you make the ascent from the deep low you've just been thrust out of, or as I like to refer to it: the first few days or weeks when I feel like I DON'T have to seclude myself in the vast emptiness of my cold bedroom and think the only place I will find warmth is in my blankets.

Then there's the part where you begin to feel like "this might be fun" as you keep climbing higher and higher toward the shining blue sky. To me, this section of the climb involves finding the shoebox in my closet and dusting off the pictures of me doing the things I love. I return to my favorite places and sing my favorite songs, and dance in my kitchen while I make myself breakfast on a Sunday morning. Because I can. 

And then there's the final stage of the climb, where, looking up, you see nothing but blue sky and suddenly you're not anticipating what will come next, but rather just taking in the peaceful serenity of your surroundings. I continue to bask in the glow of my happiness and become engulfed in activities that make me truly happy, and I no longer worry about the future, because I'm perfectly amazed and delighted in my right now.

It's amazing and I feel as though I'm the happiest I've ever been, and that I will never go down again - but then again, on a roller coaster, there's always that pang of excited adrenaline when you reach the peak... Before you begin your fall.

Purple

The color purple has always entranced me,
as though the thought of it would send
one thousand little visions through my head
of particular things that amuse me.

Thoughts of rain and wind and long summer nights,
and those of winter and snow and everything white
are not those that run through my head when I think of the color purple.

When I envision purple, the first thing I see
is a portrait of you and me
underneath that big oak tree.

When I think of the color purple I think of the dress I wore on our first date,
and how, when you dropped me off at home
you gave me that wink.

Or the day that we were wed,
and you said that you'd love me 'til you were dead.

Purple was always my favorite color,
and you loved that about me.
You'd give me jewelry and presents
of that particular hue,
and the more I imagine this shade,
the more I think of you.

You always loved how I wore lavender perfume,
and how under that oak tree, there was never any gloom.

Now
Sitting under that same oak tree,
I let my thoughts and my feelings run free.

The color purple floods my memories in shapes of you
and sometimes, thinking about it,
I become blue.
But I refuse to let that blue feeling sink in,
because I would rather feel the same way I felt with you.
So I'll feel the way that brings me back
to the day that I found my sweet Jack,
and the countless days and nights we've spent together,

and how our love lasted for his forever.

And so, on this cold day in April,
I'll feel purple.