Posts Tagged ‘little things’

Dear Depression…

Posted: January 2, 2011 in Depression
Tags: ,

How come I don’t get stoked on the little things like other people?

I’m not asking for much, really. I don’t need to turn plastic bags into pirouetting ballerinas. This isn’t American Beauty we’re shooting for. I’d just like to get excited about Christmas lights the way I used to, or maybe enjoy a nice sunset. Or, at the very least, I’d like to not sneer dismissively when others try to point that shit out. Between you and all of OCD’s stupid rules, I can barely enjoy anything anymore. I’m like a crotchety old snapping turtle, dagnabbit.

To tell you the truth, it’s a little debilitating as a poet when you numb my senses like this. How can I pretend to be all introspective and deep and wise and shit if I can’t see anything beautiful worth pointing out? I live for the nuances. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love extremes, and I always will, but it’s subtle complexity that really yanks my crank, and for some reason I can only see or hear it these days when it’s tinged with sadness: regret, frustration, wistfulness, longing, abandonment, pain.

You turn me into half a person, you bastard. Half a writer. Half a soul. You know that glass poured up to the middle? That’s me. Everyone else is a full pint.

I’m going to kick your ass, Depression. Watch me. I’m coming for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Up yours,
Bezuidenthustra

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