having not received the things i asked for
having learned that what i asked for would certainly have ruined me
it is difficult to know what it is that I should ask for now
a life without secret hopes and tumultuous, dangling dreams lacks purpose and direction
i have been stranded on a windless sea for a long time
the boat drifts
and i ask myself
if not there than where?
i had no other loves and no other ruling curiosities
without the things i asked for
i don't know who i am or where to go
Monday, October 8, 2018
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
I hide my depression to the left of the salt shaker.
When I hide my depression, I try to remember where I am going to leave it so I can find it later. I leave it somewhere obvious, that I'll return to again and again. I hide it somewhere near a joke so that I have a little warning before it comes back.
I used to think that I hid it from other people because I was afraid that they would know. Then I thought that it was because I was afraid that they would know and not care. Still later I imagined that I hid it because encountering depression is awkward and I didn't want to be an inconvenience to them. Then one day, I realized that I hide my depression and it has nothing to do with other people. I hide it because I still haven't accepted it.
I'm still desperately trying to validate all of my not depressed parts hoping that they'll get strong enough to crowd out the parts of myself dressed in exhausted despair. This is dangerous because there are days when every bit of criticism tells me that who I am with depression in charge is right. I feel the cracks between my pieces flex, buckle, and threaten to pull apart.
Most of us are paradoxes. Many of us are the same kind of paradox.
My paradox is that I simultaneously have so much faith in the strength of hope for my community, but have none for myself. I only trust my voice when I am speaking for those who can't. I don't know how to advocate for myself, to trust myself. I can summon so much strength when someone needs me, but I seem to always be brittle and empty when it comes time to care for myself.
I used to think that I hid it from other people because I was afraid that they would know. Then I thought that it was because I was afraid that they would know and not care. Still later I imagined that I hid it because encountering depression is awkward and I didn't want to be an inconvenience to them. Then one day, I realized that I hide my depression and it has nothing to do with other people. I hide it because I still haven't accepted it.
I'm still desperately trying to validate all of my not depressed parts hoping that they'll get strong enough to crowd out the parts of myself dressed in exhausted despair. This is dangerous because there are days when every bit of criticism tells me that who I am with depression in charge is right. I feel the cracks between my pieces flex, buckle, and threaten to pull apart.
Most of us are paradoxes. Many of us are the same kind of paradox.
My paradox is that I simultaneously have so much faith in the strength of hope for my community, but have none for myself. I only trust my voice when I am speaking for those who can't. I don't know how to advocate for myself, to trust myself. I can summon so much strength when someone needs me, but I seem to always be brittle and empty when it comes time to care for myself.
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