What Does Depression Feel Like?

What Does Depression Feel Like?
For Therese

Like I’m a spectator at my own life.
Watching and wondering why I am so sad.
I look at the blue sky, the trees, feel the breeze,
Hmmm, I should be enjoying this.
Instead I’m sighing heavily, taking small steps,
(Takes less energy that way),
My shoulders drooping. head down.
Hey, you idiot, it’s a beautiful day!
I look up.
It hurts to look at the sky,
Not my eyes, my heart.
Why does that hurt?
Its beautiful, that’s why.
And I am so… not.
It feels like I am outcast, apart, alone.
I am with my grandchildren.
Nine and eleven.
I watch the scene, it seems idyllic.
Actually my ex, step grandchildren, but
They love me.
They are beautiful, wonderful, little people.
I can hardly stand to be with them.
I push them on the swings
And as they laugh
A wave of palpable gloom
Flows out from my gut.
And I want to run away
And hide or even die.
I’m in my body now.
Its not fear, though I am afraid of it.
There is no word for it.
“It” is a flow of almost physically heavy,
very heavy, emotion..
Perhaps a combination of the downside every emotion I have ever felt since I was the one being pushed in the swing and I’m overwhelmed by “I can’t” and “Why?” and “I’ve got to get out of here!” and “I don’t understand”, and “I’m going to cry or yell….”
But I somehow stay, I even smile.
For them. For a while.
This is so hard.
Let’s go guys. (I need a cigarette)
The air and the sunlight are thick and heavy,
I feel like I’m moving against
Some slow but steady current,
Like a river of mud.
And yes, I feel unclean.
And they’re disappointed we’re leaving so soon
And just when I thought I couldn’t feel worse
I feel guilty and weak and….
Worse.
I have disappointed loved ones again.
Somehow that’s the worst thing I can think of right now.
And I’ve done it.
Again.
It’s always been like this.
It will always be like this.
I want to die.
But the boys…. I manage a smile
Want something to drink?
They always like that.
The mini-mart/gas station/A&W
Is always so bright and busy with cool stuff all around.
I feel better.
“Papa?” One of the boys holds something small and cool but mini-mart priced at twice its value and I wouldn’t buy it even if I could afford it. And I shake my head and say I can’t afford it, sorry, and he’s… that word again and I physically droop and almost cry and I pay for our drinks with a heavy sigh and I still manage a smile as I ruffle their hair and give them a bump of my hip on the way back to the car with the primer black hood and fender I can’t afford to get painted but it’s dependable and they like it.
And I love this but I can’t stand it for much longer.
I let them play their radio station.
Unless the lyrics are too trashy
Then its oldies or light rock and my gut burns with that emotion
As I drop them off at home.
Bye Papa. Bye guys. (I’m sorry)
Damn… I couldn’t… I didn’t… Why?
Guilt. Shame. Love. Pain.
Chain smoking and a few diet cokes
I get free ‘cause I’m a regular at the bar and its more bearable.
Home is upstairs. Empty.
I want to run away somewhere but I don’t have the will.
Thank God there’s an elevator.
On the way up I sigh and cry and
I open the door and I sink a little lower looking at the clutter,
But now I can sit in my dusty prayer chair and be still and
Know that He is God.
I close my eyes. And cry.
Eventually, I’m aware of Him.
I’ll live, somehow.
But why?

Thanks so much Therese. I'll think about making it beautiful, giving it a light, and I'm working on tearing it's guts out, but, as you know, its very messy.
Marquos

Therese is here:
blog.beliefnet.com/beyondblue/2007/10/12-ways-depression-is-like-a-p.html