This Is What Depression Looks Like

This Is What Depression Looks Like

By: Xandriane E. Loriega


 

It is waking up to a gray sunrise every passing day
ignoring my bed bug infested foam when it feasted on my skin
not taking a bath for a week and wearing the same underwear for days;
the piles of laundry I kept hidden for a month – from April to May
it is the bags of trash I refused to throw; clinging to the small
pieces of my day I out rightly refuse to dispose,
it’s looking at my distorted reflection in the bathroom mirror
noticing only the scars that’s carved on my grave looking face;
it’s walking while dragging my feet to the door
it is my appetite lost in an all you can eat buffet,
me binge eating on Saturdays with nothing but parfait,
it’s purposely drinking water to find myself choking day after day;
the times I deprive myself from drinking on hot summer days,
it’s being with friends with my mouth tightly shut; I have nothing so say
yet laughing out loud from a line in a dramatic play,
it’s thinking I’m probably abhorred by the people I call peers,
it’s me crying from the pain I sometimes no longer feel,
it’s not eating my salad of milked avocados,
not saying “Hi” to acquaintances passing by and said, “Hello”
it’s planning a trip for weeks only for me to cancel;
it’s my pillow drenched in sweat and tears – I’m such a funny damsel,
it’s not singing along to my favorite song,
it’s sleeping all day from morning to dawn,
it’s bidding happy good byes to my family – Adios! So long,
it’s finding comfort in the corner inside my closet
my mother yelling my name for hours, her voice upset,
it is knowing that the sun is an adversary, and death a friend,
it’s breathing while feeling I am better off dead,
it’s waiting for an arm to reach only for me to turn away,
it’s standing on top of the bridge railing, finding
the dark asphalt road as hope’s path and only way,
it’s trying to smile in the midst of weeping,
it’s suddenly screaming at nine in the morning,
it’s vomiting on the sink even when I had barely eaten something,
it’s throwing everything in sight without me knowing,
it’s holding a knife to my throat with the intention of stabbing
when I had always been nauseous of the thought of blood spilling,
it’s me teaching others the skill of swimming
and finding myself intentionally drowning,
it’s my cellphone suddenly ringing
a person I haven’t talked to in years, calling,
a familiar, good-nature voice rhetorically asking,
“Hey, how are you doing?”
slowing down my shaking,
finally breaking down, howling,
I whisper, “Help, I’m barely breathing.”