Poetry

Dirty

The Convenience of Filth

Black background. White text in the middle of the page: “Dirty”. Image by author via Canva.

I finally changed my clothes today
In hopes of feeling undefiled and new
I stretched my arms towards the Sun
And begged the heat to cleanse my skin
To melt away memories and dry away tears
But I could not clear the lingering stench
Of the past lives that continue to haunt me
The ones that polluted and corrupted my mind
Into believing there was safety within the filth

I think most people who suffer from some form of depression understand the comfortability of filth. When you’re depressed nothing matters. You feel nothing and everything at once. Being awake is physically and emotionally painful.

When I’m depressed I cannot change my clothes. I don’t have the strength nor the desire. I feel comfortable. They’re familiar and make me feel safe. It also serves as an extra barrier between my body and my mind. I don’t have to see it and I don’t have to touch it. That’s how I cope.

I prefer to not be present…well most days…but especially when I’m depressed. But I can’t fight it off forever. Inevitably the depression will start to taper off [unless I switch to mania]. And I have to…