Depressed: A Slam Poem

Depressed

Depressant

The liquid that flows past my lips and scorches my throat

Throat

Cut-throat

At war with myself

Why can’t I be happier?

Happy

A concept that seems so far away

Just out of reach

The glass wall between who I am and who I can’t help but be

Be

Being

Human being

They say humans are not perfect, no one is perfect

But God, I wish I was

Was

Who I was

A little girl who liked to have fun

Who played with toy cars and Barbie dolls

Whose hero was her dad

But something was wrong, she knew

Something was getting to him and breaking him down

She didn’t know its name, but she knew it was That

That

That sits in the corner of my mind

Hides behind my eyelids and keeps them shut to the light

Paralyzes me and holds me hostage in my own room

Takes the lamp and smashes it into the wall

Takes the curtains and rips them to the floor

Takes my pill bottle and throws it across the room

“It’s fine,” That says, “The pills don’t help you anyway.”

I know that they should help

I know that they should be getting rid of That

But every day, That only gets stronger

Strong

That is too strong

I’m not strong enough

I can’t fight That anymore today

Another shot, another second of peace

Another nap, another hour of silence

But That still fights against me

Another anxiety attack, another act of dominance

Another high expectation, another act of torture

“Why do you do this?” I ask

But That only grins and looks to what is in front of me

I look with That and I understand why

My life is passing by as I stand still

Still

Still numb

Still going to therapy

Still fighting That

Still taking pills that maybe That was right about

Still getting weaker

Still depressed

Depressed

That’s real name is Depression

But That doesn’t like it when I call it Depression

That says that I’m crazy for thinking that’s what its name is

But then again, That says I’m crazy for needing to take pills.

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