Tag: mental health

Who will water the roses when I am gone?

Who will water the roses when I am gone?

As I sat in this clinic waiting room, my mind raced…then it wandered. There weren’t enough seats in this large waiting room. The olive colored walls clashed with the purple cloth chairs and wooden armrests. It’s walls reminded me of my bedroom in high school 

Am I Good Enough?

Am I Good Enough?

Being Black in America is knowing you’re good enough, smart enough, capable enough…and when you’re finally recognized for it, you question if you even deserved it. America has taught us that we need to be better. That we not only have to demonstrate our worthiness, 

Depression is…

Depression is…

Depression is..the great imitator. 

The greatest actor there is. 

And the Oscar goes to…

I sing your songs but I don’t know the words. I don’t recognize the melody. 

I laugh at your jokes, but I don’t find them funny. 

These smiles aren’t genuine. They aren’t really smiles. 

They’re a barrier…between pleasure and my person. 

All that causes you joy, which used to do the same for me, rests outside these smiles, upon these lips, but it doesn’t get through. 

Joy doesn’t touch me. 

Pleasure escapes me. 

I can’t just snap out of something that feels woven into the fabric of my being. 

Depression doesn’t care about your sweet nothings or your positive vibes. 

When I am trapped in a cycle of seemingly never-ending negative thoughts, swirling ‘round and ‘round my head, my own suffering does little to inspire me to act. 

I chew truth backwards. 

I’ve grown desensitized to my own pain. 

I invert pain. 

Pain is now comfort. 

I sit comfortably in my suffering. It’s all I seem to know. It’s all I feel, cause I feel no joy. No pleasure. No happiness. 

But I don’t need to feel those things to sing your songs.

To laugh at your jokes. 

To give you a smile. 

Depression isn’t something people just “snap” out of. It’s not something that is remedied by just “getting out the house.” By “smiling.” This isn’t how this works. Depression is always working on me. It’s always there. Today, I am in control. I am strong. Storms fill my head, I often feel empty and hollow, but I am still here. This world wants to experience itself through me and I am a survivor. 

Change is an act of healing.

Change is an act of healing.

Something is happening to me. A shift. I feel it, deep in my bones I’m changing. I won’t call it growth. This implies maturation. I’m grown. Fully developed. But I am changing. Again. I fear these shifts. And welcome them.  I fear that I don’t