I finally realized that I’m depressed; and death enters my mind like a lost cat tiptoeing in my mind, giving a small purr. I’ve never been good at life. It feels like a job. Even when I was young, I wished for death. It’s strange hoping to die when you’re 10 years old.
I read Anne Sexton’s poetry all of the time, like they’re my words:
“Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention, the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.”
It’s true. I have nothing against life. I know the world is beautiful and horrible, and even the horrible can be beautiful. But I feel everything deeply. When I love, I love. When I’m sad, I’m sad. I walk around tough and my head held high, but I can buckle at my knees in private and cry like nobody would ever believe.
I don’t want to die. I hope for it though. I love life. But there is this yearning for it to end.
1 comment
You write beautifully. Thank you for sharing the way you feel.