I'm Brooke. Est.1992 TSU Alumni. SHSU Grad student. I like old places, new books, and sweet coffee.
There is salt water
pumping through your veins
and your eyes are the deepest parts
of the ocean
and last summer I went for a swim
but the current took me out too far
and I ended up twenty feet under gasping for air
this summer the ocean is calling me drunk at 3 am and I can’t give in
I can’t let myself sink to the bottom
and drown in you all over again
Maybe we’ll meet again one day when you’re not so broken and I’m not so jealous. Maybe one day we’ll be right for each other and it won’t be so hard for you to love me. I really hope that one day we’ll reconnect because no one has ever caught my heart in quite the same way.
But that day isn’t today. Today, you’re too broken and I’m too pushy. Today we don’t quite work out and as much as I care for you, I can’t keep pretending that we do.
So I’m saying goodbye. But maybe one day, I won’t have to.
That’s what people don’t understand about depression. You don’t have to have a shitty life to want to kill yourself. You don’t have to have an abusive mother or an absentee father to be angry with them. You can have a good job and still want to kill yourself. You can have two loving parents and still want to slit your wrists. You can have a faithful lover and still want to chase a bottle of pain killers with a bottle of vodka. You can have bright eyes and a sweet smile with perfectly straight teeth and still want to thrust your face through the mirror every time you look in it. You can have a full bank account and a full stomach and still feel so empty that a gust of wind could knock you down. Depression has very little to do with what people have in front of them and more to do with what they have (or don’t) inside of them. You can have a good day and still want to kill yourself. You can laugh so hard your sides hurt and still want to fasten a noose in your closet. You can be loved every way you ever wanted to be loved and still feel your bones gnawing at your flesh from the inside out. It doesn’t need to make sense and believe me, we know. The guilt eats us alive. We don’t always have it the worst. We don’t all have repressed memories of our uncles touching us or hidden bruises from our alcoholic step-fathers. Depression isn’t that simple. Your cards aren’t always the worst, but sometimes your best option is still to fold.