My Friend

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”
— Laurell K. Hamilton (Mistral’s Kiss (Merry Gentry, #5))

 

My friend, he walks with me

When she makes me feel frantic, he makes me feel still

When she makes me feel like I could feint, he assures me I’ll never go anywhere

When she takes my breath away, he brings floods of the stuff

When she makes my heart feel like a loose scarf, he makes it feel like a paper weight

While she demands more of my energy, he takes it away

While she insists we have to do more, he tells me I’m fine as I am

And when she makes me feel like I can’t do things, he tells me there’s no point anyway.

 

Sometimes it feels like he’s carrying me, deciding where I go and when to put me down. Deciding when to greet her and when not to. Other days I feel like I am carrying them. Because it’s so much easier to think of them as a disease which I just have to wait out.

 

God forbid I realise they are me.

 

“I was so scared to give up depression, fearing that somehow the worst part of me was actually all of me. ”
— Elizabeth Wurtzel (Prozac Nation)

 

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