I wake up, he held onto my body tight.
I feel him grasp the air from my lungs. He would only give it back if he wanted to.
The morning light would creep into through the windows and he would ask me to stay.
“I have things to do.”
“So? Just lay here with me. Forget the world out there.”
He wouldn’t let go. He would never let me go.
The sun would slowly descend and I would be alone with him.
He would hold me tight, sway me back and forth.
“I think I need space.”
“You don’t need anything but me.”
I could hear him scream through the doorway.
He would throw me against the wall and scream.
I’ve been out too long. I’ve been with my friends.
My friends no longer call. They say that they don’t like how I am when I’m with him.
I’m with him all the time. They can’t handle the two of us. He prefers it that way.
At night, he tells me all the things I am:
Pathetic, boneless, useless, a waste of space, fat, ugly.
He also tells me all the things I’m not:
good enough, worthy, a good person, beautiful.
He sometimes whispers them until they are etched into the insides of my skull.
He sometimes screams them until it is all I’ll hear.
“You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do, you piece of shit.”
He takes over my body until I am a shell, a shelter for him to hide in.
That night he told me that if I wanted to be away from him, the only way was to die.
So with every ounce of my body, I tried.
He realized that night what I would do to be away from him.
He finally loosens his grip and steps away.
I don’t know what it’s like to be without him. I’ve been with him for so long.
He’s all I know. This is the longest I’ve been with anyone.
He says that he loves me and that he will never leave me.
He will stay with me forever.
Since that night, he doesn’t hurt me anymore.
Maybe it’s because I’m stronger now.
He doesn’t yell at me much.
Maybe it’s because I stopped listening.
He doesn’t get angry when I go out with my friends.
Maybe it’s because I don’t care what he thinks.
It’s a process to get better.
Maybe one day, we’ll go our separate ways.
For now, we just need to focus on getting better.
For now, what we have going works.
It’s going to get better because it was only get better from here.
This was inspired by a poem I read earlier. The poet personified his battle with depression and I really liked that idea of giving the illness a more tangible explanation. I hope you guys liked it. I hope it wasn’t too much. Thanks for reading, you guys.