Author’s Note: I wrote this when I felt extremely low and like no one really understood my pain. I got to thinking, and they do. In fact, depression isn’t noticed in the workplace and is often seen as weakness. I wanted to fight that. It’s not weakness. It is an illness.
I am getting better, day by day. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. Don’t hesitate to call if you feel suicidal.
Sending love,
Heather
——-
Weary-eyed, he trudges
Through the crowded streets
Of shouting scammers, venders–
Panicked passerby.
–
“Worthless. I am worthless.”
–
He glances at his feet;
Shined–freshly shined shoes
Yet an unreal break from reality.
What is he
In this busy crowd?
–
“Worthless. I am worthless.”
–
The train ride isn’t too bad–
He finds a crumpled newspaper
And scand the headlines.
That boy is dead.
That building has been destroyed
In this awful world of hate,
In this awful world of pain.
–
“Worthless. I an worthless.”
–
He opens the door slowly,
Confidently
Maybe–
He rubs his tired eyes once more:
“Let’s start the day.”
–
“Worthless. I am worthless.”
–
Stacks of unfinished work
Smile at him menacingly.
Yet he wishes to escape
This wasted life.
–
“Worthless. I am worthless.”
This may be final, he thinks…
–
“It’ll be a few minutes,” he sheepishly says.
He knows of the risks, but–
What else can happen
To make life less miserable?
–
Then again the scratched bathroom
Walls
Appear like a twisted dream
In front of his sweaty face.
He’ll do this tonight, he swears.
Tonight it will end.
–
And he returns to the train,
Legs aching with fatigue.
Freedom runs through his veins
As he waits.
–
Perhaps that’s absurd.
“Maybe I don’t need to die.”
–
But his mind shouts,
“Worthless. You are worthless.”