Depression.
A huge word
One that I have danced around
In a thousand chaotic choreographies
Taking
two steps towards it
Before turning my back in defeat
Retreating to the
comfortable absence
Of ignorance.
So maybe I didn’t want to get out of bed today.
So
what?
Neither do a thousand other people
Who clutch at their duvets
Refusing to acknowledge
The dawn of a new day.
So maybe I did isolate myself
So
what?
Everybody grows distant
From
friends and family
From time to time
When
familiarity
Becomes hard to bear
When they
can’t explain
Why the phone is still ringing
Why the messages haven’t been read
Why everyone’s best intentions lie in a slowly stacking inbox
Maybe I’m just introverted
In need of a social detox.
So maybe I didn’t do any washing today
So
what??
I can’t smell the lingering odour of stale tobacco
Stained in to the fibres of the clothes I’ve rotated for the past week
And it’s difficult to dry a wardrobe
When November is cold and
damp
The flat is cold and cramped
When it feels like there’s
barely space in here for my body
Let alone the decorations
to keep it in shape.
So maybe I should have spoken to somebody
So
What?
Few people ever do
My problems are small
Self-inflicted
A thousand grains of sand strewn across my bed sheets.
Whilst they stick and chafe
And keep me up at night
I know people lying on
beds of nails
With an iron duvet spread
across their frame
How can I compare myself
to that?
So maybe I should do something.
So
What?
I know that I won’t.