In this collection we see a woman (could easily be edited for a young man as well) that is addressing her awareness of her depression. In “Who Am I” she sits in her psychiatrists office watching her spin in her chair and click her pen, making notes on her yellow notebook. Her hypersensitivity allows her to see all the things in others and not in herself. But when she dives into how she got to sit in that seat we see her soul in a very precious way. In “Quiet Voices” we dive into the internal conversations that people living with depression must fight through on a daily basis. The fight of listening to what is in your head versus what you try to know to actually be the truth of the life you are living. It is a poem that shows how powerful those inner voices can be and gives an idea to those not experiencing it how debilitating it can be to not be able to turn off the negativity that comes with depression. Finally, in “Say, I Love Me” a woman has a daily mantra that she fights to actually say. Staring at herself in the mirror she is forced to see all of the things that she thinks are real then reflect on what is actually real. Finally, she gets to a point where she can say “I love me.” This poem shows us that these three little words are a fight for some people but getting to the end should definitely be celebrated.
Depression: Who Am I, Quiet Voices, Say "I Love Me
My doctor often sits across from me
Smiling at me
Looking at me
Telling me I’m overthinking her support of me
The things in my head
The stress of life
The force that pushes on my head every single day telling me that I
-I am not am I.
I am not am I.
I’m a tornado swirling of we in a dead sea of us and a black darkness of them.
Those are my thoughts doctor.
Take what you can
Understand what makes sense to you
She clicks her pen
She’s writing something on her pad of paper
The paper of my future is sitting in her lap
Yellow lined paper
Why a blue pen?
The challenge of depression is that my mind is moving
My mind is bulldozing through life and I am
Sprinting for an unmarked finish line
Where at the end stands on the right my single mother crying
Telling me that I am pretty
Telling me that I’m perfect the way I am
Telling me that I am smart