It's Friday

A Poem by JEngele

Personal, sad. I'm not sure it counts as a poem

My existence feels heavy today. Each breath clenches at my stomach and I feel like I might be sick. Tears threaten behind my eyelids. I close them heavily and tell myself:

You'll be fine.

Fine, like the interest you find in plots and characters. You dwell long after everyone else has moved on and the excitement has dulled and all that's left is the consideration of what might have been.

Fine, as you pick up your pencil for the first time in a year and a half to draw. You never really forget a skill like that, but you can't seem to forget why you put it down to start with.

Fine, like knowing exactly what you need to do to feel better but sleeping instead in hopes that the next day will be better.

Fine, because you're not sure how to invest in a person who is more self destructive than you could have ever imagined. Yourself.

You'll be fine.

Because you aren't suicidal, or starving, or even all that unhappy with your life.

You'll be fine.

Because there's at least one person who needs you to be. Fine. Like telling him you're depressed only to have him say you aren't.

Maybe he knows better.

Why would someone like me be depressed?