I know I've been gone for a little while. Hopefully this explains why. Enjoy.
Sleep? Maybe an hour or two.
Now I sit and stare at nothing, tears rolling down my cheeks, stinging my eyes.
I try to text my wife, just to get a little comfort. But my vision is so blurry, I can't see past the tears.
So here I sit, shirt collar soaked in eyeball lube.
I finally send a text. "I'm broken. What's wrong with me?"
Another wave of tears hits me like a tsunami. I can't breathe.
She texts back, but I can't see the screen.
But this ain't our first rodeo, I can guess what it says. "You're not broken. Just let it come. You'll be ok."
I'll be ok. I just needed to hear that from her.
More tears fall. Like tiny liquid bombs decimating my self worth.
I listen to my happy music, I hold my keys, I look at pictures of her, of us. She is my happy place.
I change into my favorite clothes to make myself feel better. And another shirt collar is soaked.
I try to write, but my hand won't stop shaking. I can't see the page anyway.
So here I sit, helpless, under attack from salty water of my own creation.
I hear footsteps on the stairs, my wife's footsteps, and my heart leaps.
The door opens and I look up sheepishly.
She drops her purse and wraps me in her arms. I bury my face in her neck, clutching on to her shirt.
"Oh my baby. It's ok. You're ok. I'm right here. I got you."
She rocks me slightly. It's calming, but that fuckin faucet is still flowing.
Now her shirt is soaked in my tears too. I apologize, but she doesn't mind.
"I love you so much," she says, kissing my forehead. "Why?" I squeak out.
She holds my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes with my own tired eyes. "You are my everything. You are NOT broken."
She kisses me with complete disregard to the faucet that has also turned on in my nose.
Fuck you depression! I have a warrior fighting by my side that will pick me up every time I fall.
She has me, and I got this.
-Yes, SHE, my wife, is the warrior in this poem. Those fighting depression and bipolar disorder, even anxiety, ARE warriors, but so are those fighting by our sides.
-The keys of which I speak. I collect decorative keys. I keep three on my person, one from my mom, one from my best friend, and of course one from my wife. Those are the three people that understand, and always calm me down and are there for me in these kinds of situations.
-Yes, I simplified by saying fuck depression. Those that have read my other work might know I have bipolar disorder. It was just easier.
-Yes, I got this is horrible grammar, but that's what I've always said, and it's what I have tattooed on my arm. Read "Proud as a Peacock" if you want to know more about that.
That should clear things up. Thank you for reading. It means the world to know my poetry might help other people by knowing they aren't alone. Stay strong and keep fighting. We got this! Leave a comment if you feel so inclined and I'll definitely get back to you.
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
romaincrisis
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