Depression: selflost, goal-less.

I look at the things I've done
I play a recording of songs I sung
I read all the words I've written
All the pictures I've taken
All drawings I've made
And all the memories I've collected...

With a feeling of dettachment
as if none of it belonged to me anymore

I gulp for air as I work the courage to stare at the mirror
And as if just to feed my numb soul
I see a girl that I can't recognize as myself.

One beating after the other
One more piece of our identity taken away
One more part of our integrity forcefully overrided
One more dream erased
Until that girl could no longer fight.

And if my true self has lost the fight
if that girl is long gone
What is left of me?
What is left to keep fighting for?

Depression: unworthy, unfit

I look in the mirror and I see
I see a pair of green eyes still strong with
a passion for what's fair and what's right
A pair of eyes daydreaming of things simple and pure, black and white

And that's when I realize that
It's as if I'm unfit
Unfit to live in society
Unfit to care for another being
Unfit to have a healthy relationship
Unfit for a long lasting, career progress job

Back in the mirror I see a fair skin  against a honey blond hair
A good looking appearence despite all the attempts
To be a dischevelled and careless type

And then I realize, once again
How unfit I am
to show my face outside
to meet someone new
to try out for new roles
to dare a take what could or should be mine

One last time I gaze in that mirror
and I see a tall girl with curvy lines
a pretty face on a young expression
nothing but a confused and gypsy soul reflection

And that's when I realize that despite all my inteligence and efforts,
I still am seen as unfit
Unfit for being taken seriously
Unfit for being respected back
Unfit for being cared about
Unfit for having a decent future
Unfit for receiving my well earned prizes.

And then I feel lost
I feel dazed
I feel confused
I feel abandoned

Hopeless,
As if even my own reflection at that mirror had too decided I am unfit and unworthy,
and then deserted me, leaving me to my own demises.

Caged Bird

Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind  
and floats downstream  
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and  
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams  
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream  
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied  
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.

My Heart and I

My Heart and I
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I.

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus,
And wish that name were carved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
The hard types of the mason's knife,
As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life
With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.
You see we're tired, my heart and I.
We dealt with books, we trusted men,
And in our own blood drenched the pen,
As if such colours could not fly.
We walked too straight for fortune's end,
We loved too true to keep a friend ;
At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.
How tired we feel, my heart and I !
We seem of no use in the world ;
Our fancies hang grey and uncurled
About men's eyes indifferently ;
Our voice which thrilled you so, will let
You sleep; our tears are only wet :
What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
It was not thus in that old time
When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime
To watch the sunset from the sky.
`Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;
I, smiling at him, shook my head :
'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

V.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
Though now none takes me on his arm
To fold me close and kiss me warm
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
Of happy languor. Now, alone,
We lean upon this graveyard stone,
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.
Tired out we are, my heart and I.
Suppose the world brought diadems
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.
We scarcely care to look at even
A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.
Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?
In this abundant earth no doubt
Is little room for things worn out :
Disdain them, break them, throw them by
And if before the days grew rough
We once were loved, used, - well enough,
I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

"..."

Cheguei a conclusão de que, ao menos hoje, eu acho que a felicidade pode ser tão assustadora quanto a tristeza. Que seria errado negar que uma não existe sem a outra, já que sem a tristeza não apreciariamos a felicidade em nada.
Assim como que, sem a solidão, jamais sentiríamos a falta daquela companhia que tanto gostamos e ansiamos em ter novamente - tanto quanto jamais enalteceríamos o silêncio sem conhecer um estrondoso e repetitivo barulho degradante aos nossos ouvidos...

Within

I used to be afraid that one day my fire would no longer burn;

That the intensity of how i feel everything and everyone would fade;

And the passion in each positive, neutral and negative (re)action would cease to be.

I used to fear the day when my heart would beat an indifferent beat;

When my soul would go numb, and would go grey;

My tone, my sound, the echo of me would turn cold;

And my mind would become so willingly silent
that I no longer would recognize my very self anymore.

Now days and nights go by
Another set of candles get blown on yet another Valentine's day...

...And with its flame another inch of my own fire gets taken away.

Who am I, anyway?

And who was I, back before this day?

"Você"

O número de vezes que eu fujo,
O número de vezes que eu nego,
O número de vezes que eu re-invento,
O número de vezes que eu digo "Adeus",
O número de vezes que eu digo "Jamais",

Equivalem ao número de vezes que minha mente se volta para você.
A intensidade do meu querer-você,
a quão profunda é a tristeza deixada em mim por você.

Você é toda a minha razão de desejar insistir.
Você é toda a minha razão de precisar desistir.

Shallow Dive

Sometimes we meet a person
and we think they are the most
beautiful song we'll ever listen to

They make love stories finally make sense
fairy tales to feel so real
color to have sounds
and sounds to tickle your skin

And through them we become capable of seeing so much of
joy
goodness
time
hope

There's this thrilling sense of an unforgettable adventure

It's alluring
breathtaking
mesmerizing.

But just then,
into the thin air,
everything disappears...

...when you find out about

the lies
how they used you
how so easily they tossed you away

"Easy comes, easy goes" they say
Couldn't be more true

The illusion shatters into glassy pieces
And into those glassy pieces I glance
and those pieces become a mirror

And into that mirror I dare to look.
and in there I dont see what my mind truly yearns for
--a passage to a different, magical world--

what I really see,
at first,
are this once soulful green eyes,
now filled with a raging fire, a desire to break free and to be dark and mean
I felt my soul colder than ice
My emotions greyer than an empty sky

So I closed my eyes
to let this darkness take over me

a materialising shadow involving me

And my heart didnt race
my mind, still
my body, relaxed

I died for a moment
And when I finally opened back my eyes

to see what all that darkness had turned me into
to see what mean weapon had it given to me

I saw...
Me.

I saw...
Hope.

O Me, O Life!

O Me! O Life!
BY WALT WHITMAN

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                       Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

 

Quick Glance at the Mirror of Time

I wrote this almost a year ago... and I still feel this way. Maybe even more now than I did before.

××

I wish I could be more of the not-so-much-little girl I used be.

She was stronger.
She had a light soul, an honest happy smile and soulful eyes.
She also had a strength that no little girl was expected to have. 
And even with all the darkness she faced, she still sparkled.

And she could draw, write, sing, play and create an entire new world. She could make everything happen.

She dreamt magical dreams. And she went for the biggest of challenges, the grandest goals.

She had no pathlines to where I've come.

I look back and I smile proudly at a enchanting little girl who would be sad and disappointed about who I have become, knowing she'd share a silent tear and would try to tender all the scars I collected along the way.

Because she is good and kind...
... and I'm just completely lost. 

Unasked Answer

Quando você nem é a paciente, mas a terapeuta fictícia te disseca com precisão.

"I already know what's wrong with you.

You're unhappy. You're isolated. You think you're the cause of this unhappiness and are unworthy of affection so you've few friends.
Recently you lost something you think very important. Your lover, your faith, your family, or all three. You blame yourself for this, so it makes you neurotic, and you don't sleep and don't eat anything healthy anyway.
You used to take care of your appearance, but you've lost interest in that, so you avoid mirrors.
Sunlight bothers you, so you avoid that too, about which you're guilty because you think it's unhealthy and even immoral not to like the sun.
You're not a woman of convention or you wouldn't be here, but you like to pretend you are so people don't notice you. But you sometimes like that as well, and can dress to draw the eye. But then you think the men who look at you are fools, or worse, to be taken in by such an obvious outward show. So, instead you're drawn to dark, complicated, impossible men, assuring your own unhappiness and isolation because, after all, you're happiest alone. But not even then because you can't stop thinking about what you've lost, again, for which you blame yourself.

So the cycle goes on, the snake eating its own tail."
      - Dr. Seward to Ms Yves, Penny Dreadful, s03e01

Broken Heart of a Halfed Soul

where are you
when I most need you?

where is your smile
when I so bravely show you mine
behind this endless tears all this while?

where is your soothing voice
embracing my uneasy soul
giving it no other choice?

where is your warm skin,
the gentle yet wild touch,
the only touch about which I dream?

where in lies your deepest emotions
the ones to rule your choices
the ones to guide your thoughts?
is it with me,
the girl who feels you left behind,
dreaming of the day when you'll come back,
while your face colors my heart's darkest desires?

where... oh where?