Depression
A Spoken Word by Poem by Amukelani Machabi
Depression?
It is a practice of monogamy with the devil.
It is conversations with your fears.
It is when you leave the window open with hopes that the sunlight will penetrate the darkness,
Just to find that the darkness only exists in your mind
It is the state of being a living corpse
It is a cancer of the soul
It’s the thief that only steals your happiness
It is waking up wishing you had died in your sleep
It is drowning when everyone else is floating
Depression
Its 3:48 am, the coffee I’m feeding myself is darker than my skin tone
The sleep in trying to deprive myself off is slowly catching up to me.
The only thing on my mind are the thoughts that I think of when I’m trying not to think of anything,
I’m in love with the darkness but I don’t do well with the consequences of the night time
For dreamers nights are the only time of the day
I’m up at 3:00 am because this is my time of the day
You don’t know what it’s like to fear closing your eyes,
Especially when you need to close your eyes in order to see
I fear the imagination that takes place on my daily temporary death bed,
I fear the monsters that I don’t believe in
Like people who don’t believe in God but still concede to the possibilities of his existence
I stand before you reciting this poem
You could mistake this for confidence
But I stand here with my heart pumping pure pigments of confusion…
I’m confused
If you were awake at this time,
You could probably see the red in my eyes
And I could name a million reasons why there is red in my eyes
My bloodshot red eyes are not a result of a romantic encounter where I touched lips with Mary Jane,
It is a result of the pain inflicted by those who don’t know they’re inflicting pain on us,
It is a result of the privileged activists who preach equality without ever being the minority,
It is a result of the men who personally introduce people to God without ever having met Jesus themselves,
It is the result of broken people who can’t seem to think that I too can be broken,
It is a result of promises that were made but never kept,
Thoughts that were thought but never said,
We remain prisoners to words we never said, words we never said
I am a prisoner of the words I never said
I have come to learn that keeping silent when you’re hurting
Is no different from keeping silent about a crime you’ve witnessed
In some places attempted suicide is a crime
And according to me, so should be hiding your depression
It should be illegal to allow yourself hurt inside
When nobody else knows that you’re hurting inside
I know that there is probably someone in this room who is depressed right now
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for being sorry because I know you don’t need my apologies
And I’m sorry for saying sorry but that’s like a reflex response to express my empathy
I know a single poem can never cure depression
And I know talking about your depression is never an easy
I guess it’s easier masking an illusion of happiness rather than showing people broken emotions,
If they don’t ever expect to see you broken,
Nobody ever expects to see the aftermath of razor blades that intertwined with my skin
Leaving graffiti of sadness behind, or rather scars on my skin,
The dark thoughts that put the deep in poetry could be a condition but apparently some of us are too happy to suffer from depression,
Suicide and young people dance to the same tune,
So why is it that I’m not a candidate worthy of having dancing shoes?
I feel like life would be a lot l easier if people stopped claiming that nobody is perfect but still look at me expecting perfection
I dream of the day that my happiness does not depend on someone else,
But that’s just a dream
Just like how we preach self-love and self-appreciation
But still need other people’s acknowledgement as validation
I can’t help but feel that happiness is self-made
Sometimes it’s the rhythm of my heartbeat along with the things that make me happy spiritually,
That leave me doing the two steps dougie like a dance with the devil,
Gosh I swear I’m not evil
Truth is …I fear dancing with the devil to the gospel of my lord,
Truth is …I fear dancing with the devil to the gospel of my lord
I know this is the second time the devil appears in this poem
I try to convince myself that I don’t think of him much
But then again I’ve also tried to convince myself that I have never been depressed
So now down to the heart of the matter
You would think that depression should be easily visible
Lemme tell you why identifying it seems impossible
Depressed people don’t always look like sad people
Sometimes they look like
A practice of monogamy with happiness
They look like conversations with your hopes and dreams
They look like the state of euphoria
They look like they’re floating with everyone but still feeling out of place
My point is…
You never know who is depressed
…be kind
“ I write to express the emotions that I am unable to speak out directly. Writing gives me a platform to be vulnerable”.
Amukelani Machabi is a current second-year student from South African. He started the ALA journey in 2016 and now looks forward to his graduation. Email him at Amachabi@gmail.com.
