Sincerely October

Page - Pray

P words for dictionary poetry.

Page
As the feelings of depression resurface, as the anhedonia becomes deafening I remind myself that this is another moment that will pass just like the ones before.
In the story of my life I will have pages upon pages about days like these but today is a line in a chapter, it is not the whole novel like it may seem.
Sometimes these ideas feel so defining, like I've never been more than this, like I will never be more than this, but I am and I will be.
When you are depressed your mind feeds you false truths, telling you that you know no happiness, like people like you don't get better, but you've been happy before and you will be happy again.

Pain
The ache in my chest becomes deafening, nothing fills me today, not now.
I spend my days waiting until I can go back to sleep, waiting until I no longer have to be awake, until I can turn myself off for a little while.
I look for the thing or activity or song that will pull me out of this but all the music sounds the same.
I search and search and search for the thing that will make me feel happy and I don't find it, endlessly waiting for the thing that will pull me out of this.
I'd like to sit down and talk about it. I'd like to tell you exactly how it is but it seems so crushing to admit it, to admit that I am still not happy, to admit that I always find myself back in these places.
I go about my day knowing that these things used to make me feel whole, these things used to make sense and now I feel as if I am in a pit I will never be pulled out of.

Paint
I stand in front of my easel, I stare at the shades of paint that I hold in my hand.
What will I do with the life I have been given?
For so long I didn't think I had a chance, I'll kill myself before I ever arrive, the drugs will lead me to my last breath, soon maybe, but I have a chance.
Will I spend my life painting sunsets that will never fill me, will I spend my whole life looking for something increasingly hard to find, will I be silenced by wanting to feel good more than wanting anything?
Will I make something of my pain? Will I live to create the paintings of days past and beautiful days that lie ahead? Maybe someone will see my art and see what I have been through, maybe children who grew up scared like I did will know that they are not alone.
I stand in front of my easel, pondering what shades of blue and orange I should use for the sunset and what colors would be best for the flowers.

Paradox
I know what makes this worse and what makes this better, I am aware that I am slipping into something I don't want to be a part of.
I know that the less I do the worse I feel, that lying in bed for hours upon hours will not make me whole again, but it is hard to imagine doing anything else right now.
I have seen the story be retold in one hundred different ways, the worse you feel the worse you behave, the cycle feeds into itself and folds in on itself.
I start dreaming of the drugs far more often, I see them every time I close my eyes, endlessly reminded of the way I used to be, but I know these drugs are nothing at all, something that left me empty in the end, more empty than I ever imagined.
Something within me wants to sit in my unhappiness, something in me wants to write a book filled with poems like this one, and maybe I need to tell my story until it exhausts me, but I know this is not the answer.
I find myself not wanting to see the people I love, not wanting to write, not wanting to do the things I know I should be doing because right now it all feels hollow. Maybe it is a bit harrowing, but the more depressed I behave the more depressed I become.
I do believe that for people like me these days come without reason, these days come because they always do, but I know that one day soon I will wake up having forgotten ever writing this.

Passion
Something about writing has kept me breathing during times in which I felt I was drowning.
Even in my darkest hours writing is something to rely on, writing remains even when the world around me is astray.
I write when I am elated and when I am painfully low. I write when I have everything to say and when I have no words left within me. I write when I am deeply alone and when I am divinely connected.
Since writing my first poem every era of my life has been documented, every state I have been in, every person I have been, it all exists within the pages of my books.
When everything falls to the side and nothing prevails, writing does. Writing shows me that there is something within me that is steady and remains when everything is washed away.

Perception
I thought I wanted to be alone, maybe I liked keeping a secret, that I preferred to live without being known and seen.
So maybe I could talk to you, and maybe I did, but I pretended to be anything I thought you wanted from me, anything that made this easier for the both of us.
I am discovering that this is not the way I want to live, when I die I don't want to do so knowing that I spent my whole life pretending.
I don't like secrets, I never did, I want to say every thought that comes to my mind, to tell you what I think without wondering if this connects with the falsehoods I have been feeding you.
I have been living more honestly than I ever have, I speak almost every thought that comes into my mind.
I still have things I'd rather not speak of, that seem too heavy or ugly or strange to acknowledge, but maybe one day I will find the courage to share it.

Permanence
The feeling of permanence lingers in my darkest moments, the present grabs me by the shoulders and yells to me demanding that this is all I've ever known.
I can't imagine feeling any other way, I couldn't imagine life being any different.
I make promises expecting the emotions of today to last, that today's aches will bleed into every day I have ahead of me, but the truth couldn't be further from that.
The only thing that remains is that everything is always changing, that everyday is different than the day before it.

Permission
I often find myself with the sense that I am not man enough, that I don't stand as tall as I should, that something in me is not quite right.
Maybe it's the way I say it, maybe it's the things I say, maybe my girlhood lingers, maybe this is something I cannot separate myself from.
I give myself permission to write poetry because it means something to me.
I give myself permission to speak without wondering if I sound like a man or a woman or a mix of the two.
I give myself permission to paint my face and wear strange clothes.
I give myself permission to be emotional and moved.
I give myself permission to be the man I am, not the man I feel I should be.

Philosophy
The less secrets you have the happier you'll be.
You are not one to place judgment on anyone who is enjoying themselves without hurting anyone.
You cannot process it if you spend your whole life running from it.
Document today in any way you can, you will not regret it.
Know that you can be in pain and happy at the same time.
The truth prevails and often grows louder until it is spoken.
No one wants to be entirely alone, if you are human you desire connection, sometimes connection is painful, but we all crave it.
Drugs will feel like something but addiction will leave you more empty than you thought possible.
Even in times when you feel helpless and hopeless there is always something worth sticking around for.
You are not too weird for everyone, there is someone out there who is just as strange as you are.
Know that the more regrets you have the more unhappy you will be.
Sometimes there is no why. Sometimes knowing why won't help you.

Ponder
You start to wonder if a mind like yours is worth trusting, when you can't trust your thoughts, perceptions and eyes, what can you rely on?
When everything has folded in itself time and time again what do you know for certain?
You bounce between different lives, never knowing which one is for certain.
Things are never as they seem.
Your eyes lie to you most of all, you spend many nights terrified by things you know aren't really there and never really were.
What you see feels real in a way you can't deny, even when you see the person standing outside your bedroom door they are standing outside your door, even when they were never there at all.
You appreciate that even in the noise of it all you know how to behave, you know not to flinch at something no one else sees, you know not to share what you know will make those around you uncomfortable, you almost always have, but you worry most about losing this ability, that one day you will not know how to pretend.
You feel that you're losing what you want most, that you are becoming more grounded in something that never existed rather than the world around you, you find yourself fearful in a way that feels so real, you find yourself reacting before you realize what you are perceiving isn't really there, the sense the hallucinations give you overpowers what you know to be real.

Pray
Thank you for all that you have given me, thank you for the second, third, and fourth chance.
I am sorry I ever doubted you.
Thank you for keeping me safe, thank you for letting me get this far.
I'll try to be something good, I promise, I'll try to be someone worth your time, I will.
Thank you for not letting things go my way, thank you for making sure I had a chance to get better.
I'm sorry for all the unkind things I did. I carry the weight of it everyday and I know you should.
Please make this easier to live with, please bring me to my senses because right now I don't know what to do.
Thank you for helping me get sober, thank you for giving me the chance.
I still don't understand, I don't understand why you work and don't work in the ways you do, I don't know why you listened now and not then, but I don't have to know.
Thank you for all you have done for me.