I am wet ash.
Void of all light and warmth
no hope to flutter about.
A cold lump of what was once so bright.
All joy burned away long ago.
Once so cherished, now discarded.
Used and unwanted
left with the bleak rain of misery.
It does not soak, it does not penetrate
it does not fizzle.
I am nothing now but
a dark, murky slime.
I am merely, wet ash.
Poem 3: Sack of Straw
You know those sayings to get you through hard times? All those You can do its? Well, when you’re sleep deprived, that block of strength turns to a sugar cube. The words crumble and dissolve into nothingness. There are no reserves to motivate you. There are emotions, though.
There is guilt as your see your baby in the playpen or watching TV, guilt because you’re too tired to play with him. There is rage. The intense, pure anger that comes without sleep. Violence inside the mind. Teeth biting, blood gushing, screams and claws. A volcano of destruction that boils inside you. It passes as quickly as it comes, and you are left with self-pity. Loathing. Certain that you’re not very good at anything. And begging. Begging for just a few minutes of rest. Stripped of all resolve. Empty and full at the same time—a sack of straw. Please, let me sleep.
These poems by Deanna are beautiful in a way that only someone who understands depression could understand. She puts on paper the aching emotions of how it feels to be depessed, even when you know you shouldn’t be and have no reason to be. But the brain over rules the brain.