Again

Set match to gas again,
To clear it up again,
Strike a spark again,
To watch it die again.

It's dark again,
I'm cold again,
Echos again,
Repeating again,
So sublime again,
The message's lost,
Again.

Where did it begin again?

How do we keep score again?
Are we really messuring by THIS standard again?

Crashed your car again,
Lost your love again,
"Just a metaphor," again. 

Four Oh Four again,
Time to maintain again,
Spin and balance the tires again,

Schedule a visit again,
To tell the story again,
Hear the advice again,
Transform again,
Be well again,
If only for a while,
Again.

Write it again,
Recite it again,
Revise it again,
Forget it again.

I see
Slow break again.
I am
Damaged again.
I feel
Forgotten again.
I have
Isolation again.
I fear
Abandoned again
I act
Indifferent again.

Written for fun, again.
Expression, again.
Reality is different, again.
Words are filtered, again.
To this medium, again.

Catch 22

If I say I'm alright, when I'm not, people will worry less.

If I say I'm not alright, when I'm not, people will worry and want to help.

Then, I don't know how to be helped. So they worry and offer as much help as they would have if I was "alright."

If I can't be helped by anyone but myself, why ask for help?
If I can't help myself, asking for help is useless because I don't know how to be helped.

I fade away, because people let me.
I fade away, because if I can't be helped, I don't want to be a buzz-kill at the party.
I fade away, because I say I'm alright, but can't figure out how to be helped, even if I told people I wasn't alright, and needed help.

Depression sucks.

The Simple Conflict

I write down what bothers me, and want to share it.
But then I think no one can help, or no one cares, so why bother?

So it stays inside, and eats me up. But I want to let it all out.
But I can't, because I'm so certain I can't be helped by anyone.

I'm tired; I've seen this cycle for far too long, and know it too well.

If I could think of how I could be helped, I'd be fine. But I don't know how to be helped.

Headed to rock bottom, slowly but surely.

Mood Swings

Today, I had happy moments. I had sad moments. I had moments when I felt legitimately okay, and moments when I really wasn't sure I was going to make it.

Life was beautiful, and life was out to get me. Or I'm out to get me.
Life is beautiful, but I'm not always sure I can keep up with it.
Sometimes I enjoy experiences. Random experiences.

Driving home from the train station, to drop my sister off before I head off to work. The sun is setting, the western sky is overcast. KRCL on the radio, playing The Black Keys, So He Won't Break. I remember the time, well enough, to be able to look these things up. But what I remember is changing into the left lane, and the way the light hits the street and the trees. Diffused; blue, with hints of golden. maybe the leaves, maybe the subliminal hues from the setting sun. Feeling, like I was happy. Because life, is beautiful.

Fast forward, and I couldn't tell you what was on the radio. Still KRCL, but I'm unfocued, not really paying attention. I'm too concerned about finding another job, as i turn on the frontage road to get to my current job. The sun has set, and the clouds are moving in. I suppose its beautiful, i've seen it before. But I can't remember the experience. All I remember is the anxiety. The stress, the small little bit of panic, that maybe, I'm not going to make it. I reflect upon it now, and think, maybe I won't make it. Maybe if I break down, I'll be able to pick it all up again and fix whatever is wrong. But if I break down, what then? I don't like to think about it, but maybe I'd feel better.

Earlier in the day, after I woke up from the strange dream, a vision of a sunny neighborhood, then a dark room full of hooded figures, then a severed hand being dipped in wax, the many voices saying, all at once, "We are all the witnesses to justice" as the wax drips off the hand. I know it to be a hand of glory. Anyway, weird dreams aside, after waking up and a telephone conversation, I got ready for the day. Reflecting upon aspects of the call, I told myself, "Lately, I don't feel the need to run away."

Right now, I wonder if maybe I do need to get away. Run away. Simplify everyone's life. Or maybe just mine.

Maybe that is why I need any job for right now; save money, then run away. A means to an end.

I don't want to think these things, but maybe I need to face the painful feelings before I can get better.

Or maybe there is no getting better.

I hate feeling trapped. I'm pretty much fucked.

Love is a Fool's Pursuit

Very rarely does anyone actually mean to hurt someone.
Especially when it is someone they love, or someone they care about deeply.

But it happens. In the silliest of ways. And in the most painful of ways.

Not because the intent was to hurt.

It just happens.

The wrong words, at the wrong time, usually.
Best intentions, other times.
Lack of communication, as well.
Many causes, one result.

The cynic in me feels like I just can not win.
The optimist in me runs on hope with a jolt of "someday."

Then all the other voices argue, and agree:
Never someday, better off alone, because love fucks you up, right when you think you are ok being alone; like a hurricane, like a storm, someday you'll fall like rain, someday, it'll be ok. Someday, I'll be gone and I won't fucking care about it anymore. Someday i'll be a believer. When you stop looking, it'll find you, you'll find it.

Love is worth it...Really, trust me on this.

Depression

For me, It isn't sadness. It isn't waking up and wanting to cry.
It's waking up tired. It's waking up, too tired to cry.
It's waking up and thinking about the things you want, and only seeing how unreasonable and far those things are from you.
It's waking up with goals, but being too tired to follow them through.

Depression, sucks.
Depression isn't necessarily wanting to kill yourself.
It's being convinced that if you died, or just faded away, nothing would be really different.

And hope hurts, because you lack the strength to do much of anything.
So much effort, for the littlest things.

I'm not depressed like most people. I'm not depressed like some people. But I guess we all get depressed, in our own ways. And we have our ways of coping, or forgetting.

Not everyone self destructs in the same way.

Some people it's easy to help, because the problem is apparent. Snatch away the bottle, the needle, the porn, the objects of abuse. The people who they abuse. The things they blame. Forcing them to confront themselves, because they have no choice.

But it's different for me. I have no obvious problems. At least, nothing we have a cure for. When life is stacked against me, I am ground down just a little more.
Paranoia and distrust, do nothing to help me ask for help, not that it matters because I do not know how to be helped.
Because I look fine. I'm not addicted to anything. I'm not killing myself by inches with anything clinical professionals diagnose and rehabilitate frequently.

I can't explain, how hopeless I feel. How tired I feel. How, even the smallest bit of hope seems so far away, because I lack the strength to grasp it. When the things I want seem so far away, with the odds stacked against me.

That's what depression is for me. Or rather, just a slice.
Can't ask for help because you don't know how anyone else can help.
And everyone is just waiting for you to ask. That's painful.

I need time to sort things out.

Bulletproof

Bulletproof means I can't die.
Bulletproof means it will still hurt.
Bulletproof means another chance.
Bulletproof means someone has a bullet with my name on it someplace.
Bulletproof means if not today, tomorrow.
Bulletproof means I'm going to need a gun too.
Bulletproof means defense.
Bulletproof means expecting problems.

I'm Bulletproof. Usually.
I'm Bulletproof. When you aren't shooting.

I'm Bulletproof. When you can't.
I'm Bulletproof. When I smile.
I'm Bulletproof. Right now.
I'm Bulletproof. When I'm Pure.
I'm Bulletproof. Because I'm a Joker.


I'm Bulletproof, when I know I'm not.