I brood, and I snarl with disgust, watching you slither
your voice is but a whine pitched deep in my ear
a whine that I want to stop
a whine replaced by a blade?
Pin pricks dotted with blood
you yelp and you disclaim
Am I suppose to hear your sorries
am I suppose to really believe you are sane?
I know the voices I hear are my own
there are no others within my head
So here is the fear that you must accept
I am always going to make you pay.
Beneath my skin bloody gouges
unseen by those who say that they care
As long as the story matches the faces
they don’t need to acknowledge.
Do you hear my silent plea for help?
my eyes are bruised with fear, desperation
I stink of sweat hoping that you will notice
Unable to project my voice.
You can read about me in the paper
the guilt that I swear I hope eats
My child the one you cooed over
motherless because you did not speak…..
you did not act and make a report……
tonight was the night that the violence burst free
and tonight was the night I needed someone to see.
I am deep in the midst of a cycle of depression. It is dark, it is all consuming. I feel as though I spend my days wading through water, not really there. It physically hurts to smile and I am freezing. All I want to do is sleep. I eat just enough so that my stomach does not rumble. And I stare mindlessly at the television not even seeing what is there unable to enjoy reading.
I cry for no reason. And I do not need one that is what depression does. I had to explain to my two bosses at work what is going on with me. I mean, I have a hangdog expression on my face, I often emerge from my office with red eyes…..obviously there is a problem. But how do you explain to someone what it feels like to be depressed. To live with depression. So I came up with a character and I gave him a name and a look.
My depression is named Morty. Morty is an asshole. He is the uninvited uncle that moves in and never ever leaves. He may go visit another family member once in awhile but for the most part he resides with me. He is short and rotund, with greasy black hair and a handlebar mustache. He is aggressive and snappy, his voice is harsh and grating. He dresses in a mix of leisure suits from the ’70’s to the ’90’s wife beaters. His jeans never really quite fit.
Morty when he arrives is careful. He is on his best behaviour for awhile so you never really realize the insults, the taunting, the words running on a loop……you are worthless…..you don’t know how to be a mother……you are going to get fired…..you are so stupid…..you are…..you are…….and suddenly he is right in my face.
And that is another aspect of my depression. See I get to feeling really good and I can push Morty away. I can shut him up, relegate him to the small attic room. The one that gets so humid in the summer the boards swell. In the winter he huddles next to the chimney eking his warmth from there. And I imagine Morty is gone. I have conquered him and I stop taking my meds.
It doesn’t happen right away. This last time was a year and a half before I was hit. And I woke up and realized that Morty had somehow escaped. Now this venomous glutton sits on my chest and his claws are buried deep within me. And I start screaming. Only you would never know that I am screaming because I do not make a sound. But they reverberate in my head.
This time is not as bad as my last crash three years ago. I could not even look after my son. I was wrapped in grey wool and I slept my days away. I watched him play with tears running down my cheeks because I was so sad. I could not explain it to him. But a break through came the day I got dressed before I took him down to the bus rather than my pj’s. So I know that it will come with this cycle as well.
Morty has me in his clutches right now and it is painful. I am back on my medication and the amount of crying I have done since Sunday is slowly lessening. It will take time for me to get to exactly where I need to be. I do know though that I will be fortifying the room that I am locking Morty up in this time so that the chances of further escape will be slim. I know they will happen and deal with them when they do.
Deep rooted sighs, as I wonder where we should begin
what stories, what tales, what fantasies must we share
to make this lie a reality?
Do you feel the same that I do?
Do you taste the tears that slide down my cheeks
Slithering over tainted lips; a bitter taste of sorrow.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen February 2017
Okay…..I quit smoking….I ummmm have given up salt…..alcohol I still drink. I walk an average of 10000 a day save for the days that I am off.
Today I was in to see my doctor. I live with depression. Live with not suffer…..But sometimes depression gets the upper hand. We talk, I tell him I need meds, he suggests we take my blood pressure. 165/95 and he says to me….not a true reading.
I all teary eyed suggest that maybe I need to be on medication. His response omg so your blood pressure will be 90/60 I don’t think so.
The belief here is that my depression is playing havoc with my blood pressure. My stress levels and the fronts that I present make my numbers out of this world.
But I am willing to admit this, I am so willing to see this….I need to be better.
Beneath a stark sky….diamond prick prints of star light
Do I know you….do I care…. am I suppose to hide from you?
I see stark bone limbs framed by black lit sky
Stars acting as velvet backdrops
Drool upon my lower lip, bitten in desire.
Arching, aching, I submit my soul….I do not hate,
I do not detach, I can only hope that I am yours.
If your chose to debase, to turn up your
rosy regard; let me know so my kilt I may keep,
my humanity my own.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen February 2017