midwestmusings
If you were to press your heart close up against somebody else’s heart eventually your hearts will start beating at the same time. And two little babies in an incubator, their hearts will beat at the same time. Love that. So if you have somebody in your life that is prone to anxiety, like myself, and if you happen to be a calm person, you could come up and hug me heart to heart and my heart hopefully would slow to yours. And I just love that idea. Or maybe yours would speed up to mine. But either way, we’ll be there together.
Andrea Gibson  (via 5000letters)
enjoi-god

You told me to write about depression and here’s what I came up with:

I have spent more days in my bed than I can count,
worrying my mother more times than I would like
and trying to ignore the way my sister and her
argued over me.

I have spent more days in bed than I can count
and realized far too late that this isn’t beautiful.

You told me to write about depression and here’s what I came up with:

My bones feel heavy, my mind is numb
and even completing simple tasks
exhaust me.

I don’t know what happiness feels like.
Maybe because I have closed myself off from it,
or maybe because there’s an emptiness inside me
which I can’t stomach.

It feels better staying inside all day,
getting up at night when the world sleeps
and the bright numbers from the television
burn themselves in my mind.

You told me to write about depression and here’s what I came up with:

Depression is not beautiful.

It sneaks up on you, takes control of your mind and feelings,
doesn’t leave you a choice,
makes the world look smaller, greyer.

It has twisted my brain,
messed with it,
and I need to obey it, or else.

Or else. The “or else” means this-
grades lowering, letters from school,
smoking cigarettes at dawn when the world wakes up,
with shaking hands and ash-stained fingers.

The “or else” means sleepless nights,
my demons taking over my mind,
their nails silently scratching along the walls,
scars on their arms, legs.

Scars
which scarily resemble mine.

You told me to write about depression and here’s what I came up with:

There’s this ache inside me which holds me down
like an anchor, leaving me no choice but to go under.

It feels like I am walking against the current,
no rocks to lean on, to support my weight
and the idea of letting go,
floating down, calm and peaceful,
sounds more and more appealing to me.

It’s hard to fight a war
which takes place inside your mind.

You told me to write about depression and here’s the truth:

I have learned that I had to get up,
fight against the current, open my eyes
and I realized that after all that happened,
people were still willing to be my rocks in the stream,
supporting my weight.

I have learned that I can’t undo the tears
my mother cried over me
but I can be there for her and wipe them away.

I have learned that depression is not beautiful, nor romantic
and all these stories about some boy saving you from your heartache
are bullshit.

Don’t sit there in your loneliness,
don’t wait for a beautiful boy to kiss your scars,
don’t think not going outside for a month
has some deep significant meaning
other than it being self-destructive behaviour.

I have learned that you have to get up
and fight the battle
you were destined to win.

m.t., my silent battle against depression. (via llionhearts)

THIS.