So, the joke goes something likeā
(and stop me if youāve heard this one before)
it goes something like, two kids with depression
walk into a relationship. Now, the bartender asksā
wait, shit, sorry. See, there isnāt any bartender, ācause,
letās be honest: theyāre not doing their drinking by the glass,
theyāre doing it by the bottle. Okay. Okay, so,
the therapist saysābut I mean, who can afford
a therapist, these days? But the antidepressants,
the antidepressants say,
āI havenāt worked in two years, but
my list of side effects is too long
for you to ever leave me. I
am where you learned to be needed.ā
Ā
So theyāre coping. Of course,
sheās forgotten how to talk about herself
in first person, while he
offers up his lifeās story like itās a joke
only he finds funny. Turns out
the world is just as heavy
on two sets of shoulders.
Ā
Two kids with depression walk into a supermarket.
Two kids with depression walk into a doctorās office,
walk into a brick wall, walk into
the same bad day three hundred and fifty six times
and call it normal.
The only thing I know about this punchline
is that Iām not gonna like it. That it looks
like a hurricane of nothing.
Of repetition.
Of wake up, wake up, wake up.
Of moving just fast enough to be considered alive,
but only in the way a houseplant is considered alive,
or a creeper vine. Plenty of things are still here
simply because they donāt know how not to be.
Ā
My boyfriend talks about death like a place
he has tried to visitālike a destination
he is always pointed towards, even when
it is not the place he is going. For me,
I donāt bother aiming for an ending when,
most days, I donāt feel like I ever started.
What I mean isā
Ā
Depression is ugly.
And itās easy to backslide when you
are trying to climb mountains,
but that does not make you a failure.
Two kids with depression woke up this morning,
walked all the way to tomorrow and the day after that.
Two kids with depression are still walking.
That might not sound like much to you.
Ā
What I mean is
weāre a couple of fighters
and we are still here.
In spite of everything.
Or maybe because of it.
What I mean is
suicide is not cowardice, but
it is, without a doubt, an act of bravery
to survive.
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