Listen Poem by Heatherlee Eldridge

My depression is a shapeshifter
One day it's as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear
The next it's the bear
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone
I call the bad days "the Dark Days"
He says, "try lighting candles"
But when I see a candle, I see the flesh of
The flicker of a flame
Sparks of a memory younger than noon
I am standing beside alone. I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem
He says, "I thought the problem was that you can't get out of bed"
I can't, anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head
He says, "Where did anxiety come from? "
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party
Kris, I am the party, only I am a party I don't want to be at
He says, "Why don't you try going to actual parties? "
Sure I make plans, I make plans but I don't want to go
I make plans because I know I should want to go; I know sometimes I would have wanted to go
It's just not that fun having fun when you don't want to have fun, Kris
You see, Kris, each night Insomnia sweeps me up in its arms, dips me into the internet in the small glow of ty he screen.
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company
He says, "Try counting sheep"
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake
So I go for walks, but my space is limited
The ringing in my ears like clumsy church bells, reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness that I cannot baptize myself in
He says, "Happy is a decision"
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg
My happy is a high fever that will break Kris says, I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying
No Kris,   I am afraid of living
Kris, I am lonely
I think I learned that when you left, how to turn the anger into lonely the lonely into worry
So when I say I've been super busy lately I mean I've been falling asleep watching YouTube on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city
My mouth a boneyard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat
But I am just a careless tourist here.
I will never truly know everywhere I have been.
He still doesn't understand
Kris, can't you see
That neither can I.