This year, my depression came back.She came back very abruptly over a weekend, and still hasn’t left. It isn’t always doom and gloom, I do have days where I forget that it’s there, and other times I think I will never feel happy again.
One slow evening, I lay on my couch and wrote this poem expressing how I had been feeling that week. It is very up and down, that week was a down.
Happiness is the parent I lost in infancy
In crowds with friends I often pretend that I remember her touch, as we exchange stories I embellish the memories, how I would sit tangled in her lap, comforted by her warmth, her voice her smell
When the truth is, I cannot remember her, not really.
Her features are obscure, her voice unfamiliar, if I ever was to meet her, I probably wouldn’t realise
Instead I feel hollow, a hole that keeps growing no matter how hard I try to fill it.
There is no future, only darkness, there are no smiles only teeth that occasionally force themselves through stiff lips, a feeble attempt at uttering I’m okay.
I don’t even believe me anymore.