Deep Recession
Written by Joanne Tedds on Tuesday the 22nd of November 2011
His depression is different to mine, and it is different to Wills.
His stands on his shoulders, and instead of covering his eyes, it holds them open,
Forces him to look, strain,See a world he understands only enough to loathe
Mine grows colder slowly,Itches like expensive wool, privillege burdens me,Makes me flippant,Impatient,Ready for bed.
He hates people (Unless they are like him, in his imaginings)
Mine is misunderstood,They dont get itI am frustrated, They dont listen,Dont think.
My depression is self pitying, Then self loathing and then silent.
His depression puts him in his dressing gown at 6pmMakes him snap at his lover, his friends and others
He spits poison and stays stubbornWill not apologise,Will not discussIt is our fault,We avoid him
Wills depression needs company and distraction.It haunts him like a bad dream that catches him before sleepand keeps him awake,He hates this, as he loves sleep more than most,He exacts revenge by not getting up,He is the best daytime sleeper I know.
My dark days hit occassionally,A deep recess or troughThat dispairs me,I want to die,
How can someone usually so grateful,See so little good in the world?I am stupid. Stupid. Hard on myself and I deserve it because the poisonThat swills around my brain threatens to spilland it is the responsibility that deters me.
I will not apologise for staining your day with unpleasant and so,I stay out of the way.
I cant talk. My lips are locked,Secrets burried but burning my hot head.
I need a break from life.
Then, He comes clattering through teh house,Throwing keys, Banging chairs, upset, That someone is cooking for him.
He wanted to cook!
If I am as ridiculous as that,I am going to laugh at myself.I look in the mirror.I laugh. A forced pretend HA HA HA!you are Ugly.I laugh some more.Throw my fist onto the table,Slap my thigh and I am surprisedMy depression lifts,
Still visible in the heavy lines it has cut into my shoulders like a too-tight bra.I laugh. Not today you littel fucker! Ha HA Ha.
He thumps up stairs,His is still hanging from his neckMakes him stoop,Drags the skin down his cheeks,Makes him scowl.and I am not laughing at him...
He can feel it, But its a mysteryHe stands tall tries to shake it,But it feels worse.
We dont know what flicks my switch but his, his is ridiuclous,Hard as a culture rich,wine drinking, cheese eating, upbringing must have been,We can not put our finger on it,It is deep in his recesses,We suspect it is us,We know it is him.
I have my button in my hand. I pierce it before it dissapears,Pin it boldly on my shirt,Daring you to press it,Set me off,Wanting only to discuss it if you dont,
The source of Wills depression I have always suspected, Is that he was born without a fuse.
And that can be just as bad...