Depression|Part 3

Drawbacks.

What makes it really interesting about depression that some fake it? What makes it important that people love to say, “I am depressed, it sucks!” In actuality, what is depression?

Depression is a master in disguising.  

It’s been so long since I wanted to write again on this topic to just make myself feel that I need to take it out of my chest. The more I try to make clear sentences, it jumbles a bit and makes it feel too forced out. But to talk about depression in my experience makes it too personal also.

So, erasing and writing again for the umpteenth time, I have decided to let my mind do the talking and edit when I am done.

You see, a person going through depression doesn’t like to address her issue like depression. Or to talk about her issues to someone and say, ‘you see, I am depressed’.

But, this person can get easily irritated when somehow she finds the confidence to talk about her mind, the listener interjects with her own sad stories or one or two sad incidents from her life and casually end it with, “I am depressed.”

Like a switch being off, her mind clicks and goes to a blank phase.

Whatever that is being said by the other person is not recorded into her mind, and the talker finds this non-responsive stare or emotionless hums annoying. The end will be mostly, an accusation thrown at her. Here her being the victim! The accusation gets registered properly and like a favourite song being replayed in a loop, the sentence or word gets played in a loop; which makes her even more miserable.

Sometimes life is not a fair game.

And now, if she speaks her mind, it will come out as harsh, cold, abrasive or heartless.

She might have only have said what is going through her mind, which she thought was the right thing to say. But, suddenly her words came out wrong or was met with wrong ears. The ability to speak and be bold about it is ripped out from her.

Afterwards, every time she opens her mouth, it will be careful, calculated or robotic. She could feel the hypocrisy in her words but wouldn’t dare to change it in fear of more accusation thrown at her, which to her is a kind of embarrassing situation that will haunt her for a lifetime.

Or if her heart was set to be, ‘I will be who I am, what I am, and I don’t care what others are going to say’; the next person she meets will make her believe that what others are going to say is the only important thing that we have to face.

A depressed person is the most misunderstood people in the word.

A person going through depression or similar conditions, will find communicating or trying to speak their thoughts difficult. Not because they don’t know how to talk, write or pronounce words; but because their mind is a jigsaw puzzle with million pieces scattered across her entire universe making it a herculean task to explain even the simplest of things.

 Or if she had the courage to speak. And she did. The accomplished smile shines on her face, making her feel proud of herself; but the listener might have heard it in a negative way and argued to differ. Or it was simply met with disregarding ears. Or was exclaimed as atrocious. Or was laughed at. Which further rips her confidence into ashes.

Not always, a depressed person is misunderstood. But once when someone comes and say, ‘I can understand,’ her fear escalates and pushes the opportunity to be free, far away from her. And the person being pushed away remains pushed away. Not everyone has the time or commitment to make a change.

Well, not everyone is meant to be in our life.

Some, come and go while some, come and find a way to stick by our side.

And I wish that everyone get a chance in this universe to be happy. And everyone who is secretly fighting depression finds a reason in their life that will make them forget what depression is. Yeah, yeah, I get it… unconventional talking… but I am a person who believes in ‘nothing is impossible’.

So yea lets cross fingers and hope for miracles.

Rant will continue…

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Sorry if this is really boring. I really wanted to get some of it out from me. If you read it, please do comment and tell me what your expieriences are.

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Depression | Part 2

Dear silent lover, 

For whoever, it may concern as I cannot form a shape or name to the image of something so constant in my life. And I address you dear for the fear you left me bubbling in the pit of my enclosed perimeter, where I built walls so that no one can access it; but here you are. With a smile so pure, that venom drips from the corner, tinkling my innermost rivulet, to let go of the emotions that I have bundled up in a reservoir that has a limit before it might explode.

I have forgotten the hang of writing letters, or poetry for that matter. But the more I am with you, in the shadows of a full moon night; I get to feel the birds ringing in my cerebrum. The warmth your care provides endangers me to give up and roll in the blanket of your quirky laughter and just… be. 

For millenniums, I have become a sculpture for your love to be moulded into the shape you want. Now, that I am what you wish for… I suddenly became your reason to be rapturous; while I tarnish the image of being good and morbidly happy.

For you, I have let my guard die in front of my own eyes and the stippling kisses leave an everlasting mark on my skin, so pure, so real; that I can’t believe when it’s over, I can still feel you and nothing in the form of words can I ever describe. 

Dear dearest, take me, leave me naked and bare me to the stars above and leave me in the bed of roses for your anger to be unleashed and be finished with this demurring ecstasy. 

For I am nothing but a petal in the eyes of you to be fallen in love over and over again, even though I doubt if I will ever be good enough.

Dear anxiety, depression, sadness, loneliness, and all things ugly but great teachers… I present you this!

••• silver sanity •••

 

user img
the doors to my cathedral
were open with haunting symphony
echoing in between
galaxies and hallucinations

I bathe in silver beam
as the sun spits out monochromatic
drool of endless summer

but

the sweet divination
of the moon
in between cold burst of silent synergy
had me gasping
underneath myriad of stars;
surfacing
with a new wave of energy

…another dawns breaks into her hair, bleeding nothingness…

monochrome photography of sad woman
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Pexels.com

you ever heard
of that annoying click
of a wacky keyboard
at three in the morning
where a forlorn ghost
tries to knock
on the barren wall
for umpteenth time;

yet, the backspace
giggles as she race
down the words
into large pile of trash,
making clean white lines;
which needles of a bored clock
snort
converting… prose

ii

midnight
is for lovers
that make love to rattling silence
as each held a cigarette
with its white horse
marrying the dust-
settling over life
of the just breathing mannequins;

and the eyes of the painter
smoothens smudges
created by her own careless
blotches of mascara,
sighing into nothingness
smashing butt of the smoke
into palette
of misspelled promises

iii

the hour speaks
less of a story tale
as the cast of her brain’s charade
falls dead
into her bare arms

with a broken bit of charcoal
and endless wit of a dirty coffee mug

iv

her sigh sent chills down the hallway
like an echo

as she collects monochrome
to paint a happy smile
over the rich tones
of another unhappy
dawn

_________________________________

Writing after so long…. So damn long…. Too far away from good! but I am keeping this for now.

Faded

Related image

there is a poem
inside my bones,
wriggling
to let go…
the metaphors
plays a master plot,
in water coloring the secrets
on my skin;

I feel the waves
crashing inside my ribcage
as I search
the direction where your footprints faded

for eons
I held my breath
and now that you cut off the string;
I was let go
like an untied balloon.

blackened blankness

lighted candle
Photo by Rahul on Pexels.com

glass floor
crack as I waltz with the moonbeams
singing songs of
broken wings and fire

the age of growing up
receded, leaving me breathless
with no dreams

barren, I
wake up with charcoal stains on my face
and run-down crimson welts

a pretty distraught sight
to greet morning to

yet,
the morning song
remains the same,

with punctured lyrics
and dismantled refrains

a song
too lethargic to wake
me up

Depths

blue blur color dark
Photo by Blaque X on Pexels.com

for the longer minutes
of holding my breath in,
the images swirl past like tornado

the burn in lungs,
fogging senses
and the deep state of fear
surpassing all.

the feeling of cloistered thoughts,
repeatedly bashing
and the purged memories,
resurfacing with a vengeance-
the dip feels eternal
and the bathtub
a bottomless ocean

my fingers find a pulse
in the depth of tangled veins,
beating faintly
like a drowning poetry
taking its last swig of burning air

the time slows down
to a point where the brain hears the tick
loudly enough to trigger a migraine,
the cluster behind the eye
painfully dragging pointers
of how worthless and shameful I am

the truth
holding its agenda like a banner
to my face
of how… insignificant my life
is in existence

the years on my span
mockingly, whispering my wrinkles
are the failed attempt of me
trying to pick myself up

I feel like the silence
is poisoning me
yet, the light from somewhere afar,
urge me to remain strong

but, the pull towards abyss is stronger
than the push of myself to wake up,
just to breathe…

everything around
just dulls and greys
and I am just
mindlessly tiring myself out by sighing too loudly