DEPRESSED AND IN LOVE
It’s taken years for me to finally accept that I am depressed and that the severity of my psychological turmoils was beyond my faded coping mechanisms and head in the sand (14 hours of classes daily).
I woke up to the realization that I was experiencing high blood pressure, failed digestion, incoherence of thoughts, emotional graph swings beyond my wildest dreams and bring recently orphaned dealt me the last blow. Luck always seemed to follow me as a child and so did perils. As I clocked into my silver jubilee, I had countless traumatic events, a busy schedule, no family, no job and dependency on prescription for sleep, mood stabilization and a few extras. I was definitely headed out of this realm.
At the height of my brokenness, a collection of pills by my bed, my intentions set, a strange call…. Martin. The closest guy friend I made in my stay in college seemed to sniff out my worst. I had before tried ending my life, 8 times (current standing). A brief talk, a visit a long while later and a cheerful month followed. This was to however wear off, as does anaesthesia and the pain of my brokenness showed through my fake smiles like the sun in my window.
Weeks later, after much talk, a crush of mine came home. Casual talk, movies, food then so e deeper conversations left me elated and a little less worried about my sores. This went on for a while and bits of me started falling off. How? I opened up, talked about my past….. I would give and give of myself I’m continuous prose, as one would do a book reading by its author……. I talked, and talked, and went as far as extending the joys of my newfound thrills on text.
Confusion. Here I was, opening up to someone I (later) realized was sharing less of themselves. I was serving me, and more of me to them daily….. as though I Owned them, some personalized shrink. Over time, the urge to talk was replaced by questions. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? How did it get there?
Love.
Damnation. I was living with person in a manner unknown to me before. Here I was, loving them, expecting nothing in return, hardly interested in their sexual performance and oblivious of the awkwardness this presented. I was incapable of holding in my affections a,my desperation leaking through like water in a cracked pot.
My need to bond with another soul (grew up alone and hidden) growing stronger with every passing day, since my late mother’s departure. I was desperate, I was longing, I was nagging, I was begging for attention and consideration.
Foolish. An idiot, I opened my mouth and spilled the beans……. We can consult the doctor for how well I handled the rejection in my face. Defeated and dejected, I caved in, fell to my desire for solitude and reclusion. White the fool I was in letting f my inadequacies lead me to crushing in anything that appeared good, but a drowning soul grasps onto anything, grass leaves and Moss.
Oh how I wish Martin never called! My cold body, a constant reminder of what bore my wretchedness, lain on a slab, a furnace door shut behind my head. Flames. Bright hot flames licking my oaks skin until all that’s left it grams of body parts swept together and handed over to my resenting next of kin, a River in sight.
Hate. I loathe my skin, my body, my scars, my smile, the image of my bloated flesh making passage before the bedroom mirror.
Death. It’s quietness, is it as peaceful? Will it hurt? I’ve pained enough years.
