Poem | Waking up with Depression

Everyone has a different experience with mental health, and depression is deeply personal. No one account is the same, and it can fluctuate day by day.

I do not offer this as a definitive description of what it is like for everyone to wake up with depression; but it is an offering, a thought, a snippet, and a representation of one morning, for one person, at one time.

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Waking up with Depression

There’s a stranger in my bed again.
A dead weight trapping my elbow,
showing no sign of budging; I’ve tried
nudging them with my foot, my knee,
but they can’t hear me – or,
at least, that’s what they want me to think.

The guilt hangs over us like the thick, stale stink of
damp washing, or last night’s garlic bread,
or the shoes piled up by my door.
The light through the window is the pale colour of dread
bearing down on my sheets;
my body is sore and my mouth feels raw and
my skin doesn’t feel like the stuff I grew up in and
this is one one-night stand I had no hand in;
they propositioned me without me knowing
and here we are; the morning after the laughter
once more.

I never saw this coming, but then who ever does
when the good days offer a buzz that prickles your flesh
and helps you forget about fickle mornings like this?

Regardless, I kiss them, and fold myself in around their form,
breathing in skin, cold from morning air
and offer them tea
and wonder how long they’ll be with me this time.

by Jo Fisher

 

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