I have taken to metaphor-ing severe depression
as an open wound with profuse bleeding
the stopping of which is not necessarily the resolution
i.e.
the healing
of the wound
nor the removal of the injuring agent
but a bandage that might at least help
stop further loss
clear up the light-headedness
prevent infection
clean you up for the requisite appearances
birthdays, high school graduations
your own wedding
what have you
And when the dejected 18 year-old
for whom melancholia is something of a contact sport
says to me:
“But what if you like the bleeding?”
Which I wasn’t expecting
But am in no way surprised to hear
Well, that’s the thing you see…
I respond, not missing a beat
Because I really do know
the thing
in question
That would make this
a peculiar
yet undeniable
form of self-harm
no?
As if I myself haven’t engaged in this sweet romance
Once…
Mm, twice, sorry I forgot that one time, nonetheless
Still an affective discomfort
Still a wound
of the higher order cognition kind
Screaming
I have been hurt
Not that that’s any of my business ’til you choose to share that
Fortunately for you, I’m patient
As others were patient with me
I wouldn’t be here playing this game with you if they hadn’t been
Now then
This boy, he bleeds
And I’m really excited because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else
Who could, potentially
(oh, how he hates that word)
Really make it work for him
And the 18 year-old he’ll get to meet someday
This one. Keeps haunting me. I keep coming back to it.
ReplyDelete