“Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”
“How nice — to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”
“One way of knowing you truly love another person (or vice versa) is that you either want what’s best for them or what they want for themselves. Your needs or personal agenda do not factor in to the matter. If for example they want to move to another city, or you know that move would be the best thing for them, then the move is what you want for them too. The German phrase “fall back and I’ll catch you” is parallel to this. If you know for certain that person’s love and concern for you is genuine, then you can go to them any time and ask “What should I do?” And you can be certain their answer will honestly be what they think is in your best interest. Not *their* interest, or what they want from you, but what they think will make you happiest.”
I fell asleep on my couch watching old romance movies
with my glasses still on and my book in my hands.
I woke up and ate a spoon-full of frosting
and debated whether I should set the coffee maker for the morning.
I have a king size bed with a blanket on the end I never unfold.
I always sleep on the left side, the right side kept perfectly made.
some nights my room is so quiet I can hear my heartbeat.
quiet is something I’ve had to get used to.
I bought a glass bottle of root beer today and couldn’t get the cap off.
this man gently took it out of my hands,
opened it, smiled and walked away.
I was talking to my friends about how I want to find love,
honestly I’m not sure that I really do.
unless it’s someone who would close my book
and take off my glasses when I fall asleep on the couch.
unless it’s someone that will kiss frosting off my lips
and make me excited to set the coffee maker
(because I’ll know that in the morning I’ll take two cups
out of the cabinet and smile as I pour hazelnut creamer)
unless it’s someone who will mess up my sheets
and perfectly made bed,
making this room a little less quiet.
unless it’s someone that will laugh as I struggle to open a glass bottle of root beer and instead of opening it for me he says,
“you can do it, I know you can
“Irony won’t save you from anything; humour doesn’t do anything at all. You can look at life ironically for years, maybe decades; there are people who seem to go through most of their lives seeing the funny side, but in the end, life always breaks your heart. Doesn’t matter how brave you are, or how reserved, or how much you’ve developed a sense of humour, you still end up with your heart broken. That’s when you stop laughing. After that, there’s just the cold, the silence and the loneliness. You might say, after that, there’s only death.”