The Cure for Depression
There isn’t one.
You can’t just force me out of bed and try to get me to rejoin society. You can’t tell me that it’s my own fault for not thinking positively. You can’t honestly believe that the cure for depression is to just pretend that it isn’t real.
Just listen to me when I talk, and let me crawl under your sheets and nap for hours, and stop making me compete for your attention. I am coping with this the best that I can.
Inapprehension
by Shayla O'Leary
She’s afraid to make a sound because
They might realize she’s awake. Maybe if
She closes her eyes and pretends not to hear them,
They will leave her alone.
It doesn’t work this time.
It doesn’t work, ever.
“Get up”,
She bites her lip and
Her shoulders tense up.
How careless, she thinks to herself,
To wake an Angel during her sleep.
“I said get up!”
Their hands dart toward the light switch.
The bolt shoots through her eyes, but still
She remains speechless.
They start to make their way toward her,
Sighing.
Thoughts race through her mind;
Things she wishes she could say,
Feelings she longs to express.
Heated frustration cultivates in her chest, and
She apprehends that
Her fists have been clenched for weeks.
“We are going to fix you now.”
The suspended pieces of her broken heart
Start to blaze at the sound of this.
She opens her mouth fearfully, yearning to tell
Them to just let her die in peace.
She foresees another futile battle, and decides to save
Her energy.
Her lips quickly turn to stone.
She tries to compose herself as she
Pulls the blankets tighter over her face.
It’s warm and comfortable so
She let’s herself breathe in the solace.
“You can’t hide under there forever.”
She feels them lift off the bed and out of
Her room, leaving the light on, but
She doesn’t worry.
At last,
She is alone again.
Their voices are distant now, but
They are still potent of self-righteousness
And inapprehension.
She swallows her pride, holds back her tears, and
She decides that
Maybe
She will be able to get out of bed
Tomorrow.
