not a cloud in sight
my eyes quiver in the sunlight
my limbs stay frozen try as I might
overcast blocks the sun rays
I need to survive today’s
murky waters as I graze
the world a perpetual haze
the birds sing a delightful tune
still — I lie here swoon
wishing for the moon to prune
the garden in which I loom
my feet find ground in the afternoon
the fog obscures my vision
it cloaks me devouring my ambition
despite my opposition
I’m not in the position
to be my own physician
I suffer alone in my garden overgrown
I was originally going to write poetry about my struggle with depression. But the more I think about it, the more I want to include poetry from other depressed creatives. Because I recognized that I’m not the only one who suffers daily.
I realize that I have a burning desire to help people. So the logical thing to do is recruit people who live with depression and are willing to share their story with the world and publish a journal, magazine, books about what depression is really like.
The more I open up about it the more I realize that there is a lot of misinformation and stigma surrounding depression. And I want to do everything I can to dismiss those myths and give voice to those who suffer alone.
I don’t exactly know what I’m going to do. I could ask 5 poets to write or submit 2 poems about living with depression. Or I could ask 10 writers to submit or write a journal entry documenting their day and publish that as a book. Or I could start a magazine where I break down what depression is and how to manage with or without drugs.
But for now I’m still organizing the 40+ poems I wrote for The Fog and I’m going to publish those as a zine/chapbook.
Oh, how far and fast
Would fly to satisfy my
And need to escape The Fog
leave the stifling sadness behind and
To higher ground far
From the stifling fog
I finally got up at 1:30 pm to use the bathroom and eat. I even made some tea and cleaned up a little bit. But I still feel heavy. Still tired. I want to go back to sleep. I wanted to get up and do some yoga but The Fog stole my energy. It feels like I have weights on my limbs. It hurts to get up and do things. My knees wobble and my hand’s tremble. My heart beats harder and it feels like I’m dying. My head hurts when I stand too fast.
I’m just a fucking mess today. I want to go out and enjoy the beautiful day but sun hurts my eyes. I’m not sure if I will have the energy to go to writing workshop tonight. Especially after my mom asked me to clean the bathroom which I’m probably not going to do. I don’t even have the energy to work on my poetry or my novel today. But I know if I don’t I’ll regret not doing anything productive. And I know if I don’t clean up my mom would get upset and start yelling about how lazy I am.
I wish she could see the shackles on my limbs wearing me down. I wish she could feel how heavy they are. I wish she could see the fog clouding my vision. But then again I don’t want to wish this on her. Or anyone. While It would be nice if they understood what it felt like I would want anyone to experience depression. It’s a nightmare. And it never ends. Even when I’m feeling good or when something good happens to me I can’t help but wonder how long this good feeling will last.
I don’t know what to do.
I took me 3 hours to write this. 3 hours. And I don’t think I said everything I wanted to say. But I’m too tired to continue.
Alone in this cell
I created for myself
The fog expelled
from my breath
My thoughts yell
from all around
They whip me
and I let them
I did this to myself
I let them control me
I try to squirm away
but the welts
sting too much
I wiggled my way
to the cell’s bars and scream
I clutch the bars as my thoughts
try to pull me back
to the hell
I created for myself
I let my thoughts win
this is my punishment
I lose touch
with my strength
I did this to myself
I let them win
It starts with oversleeping. I say I’m just so comfortable I don’t want to get up. But it pins me to the bed. It’s starting to suck the energy from me. It’s getting stronger by taking my strength. I wake up with my alarm but I don’t get out of bed like I should. I tell myself to stay where it’s warm and safe.
It stops me from eating like I should. I say I forget but I really don’t feel like it. But I really do. I’m just craving everything I can’t afford. I end up eating once a day. And that’s most likely a late breakfast. Not even a whole one. It weakens me.
Then the thoughts come. Why even try anymore. You’re not that talented. You’re not that smart. Your friends don’t really care. No one really cares. You should just give it. It’s too hard.
And the sadness keeps me from reaching out. I ignore my friends. I don’t tell them what my mind is doing to me. The sadness keeps me from emptying my thoughts on the page. I know its the best thing I should do but I just don’t feel like it. I have no more energy to fight it.
I never know what to do when it gets this far. So I just let it do what it wants. And I pretend I’m alright. But I wish I was back in bed. Alone with the fog. The only one who understands. The only one who believes.
It was nice while it lasted.
I didn’t think this was going to be so difficult. I thought I knew exactly where I wanted every poem to be. But after reading and rereading my poetry I’m not sure anymore. I’m over thinking it, no surprise there. But this is my first collection and I want it to be perfect. I don’t know what story I want to tell or how to start or finish it. I just have a theme. Depression, how it feels, how I deal, and how I try to explain it.
I was thinking about starting from childhood. Poetry about the strong little girl I use to be and how I miss her. But I haven’t written poetry about that nor do I know how. It might come to me after some deep thinking and research. I might have to ask my parents about who I use to be. I was thinking of following that with my rape and how that may have been the beginning of my depression. I feel like I was forced to grow up pretty fast and my childhood hasn’t been the same since it happened. I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone and it just kept happening and I kept thinking about it. Then I stopped thinking about it. Trying to ignore it. Trying to erase it from my memories forever. It worked for a while. Until it happened again when I got older. And again with someone I thought could trust.
I feel like I was forced to grow up pretty fast and my childhood hasn’t been the same since it happened. I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone and it just kept happening and I kept thinking about it. Then I stopped thinking about it. Trying to ignore it. Trying to erase it from my memories forever. It worked for a while. Until it happened again when I got older. And again with someone I thought could trust.
Then maybe I’ll follow that with the little girl I use to be, imprisoned in the fog. And how I didn’t try to set her free. Because sometimes I feel like I didn’t try hard enough to free myself before it got bad. I feel like I did this to myself. If I had just talked to my parents instead of letting it brew in my head and heard for so long. I would be more successful. Right? I’ll never really know of course.
I think I like this direction. And all I needed was to type it out. I guess now I should write another 15-30 small noticings and try to build poems from those.
Stay tuned for more updates on The Fog!
I am learning so much about self-publishing and I haven’t spent a dime. I’m so proud of myself for making so much progress the past week. It has been a tough few months for me since I lost my job. I stopped going out, stopped applying for jobs, survived basically off tea and junk food. The fog was so heavy I thought it would never let up. But here I sit typing away and enjoying my day.
Since I have surpassed 30 followers on this blog I will be updating you all on my progress of The Fog – A Collection of Poetry About My Depression. I have already posted some of the poetry I’ll put in the collection but of course I won’t post everything. I will be self-publishing it under the pen name Aurea Fae instead of Tentai Furea. It’s a long story. I might tell in in another post. Also, I’ll be publishing this and possible future collections under the Fictitious Business Name A Light in the Dark.
There is still much for me to learn about being a writer and self-published author. But for once in my life, I don’t feel discouraged at this task. I’m actually enjoying the journey.
the girl that’s been locked away is finally free
we run away together scared that the fog will
return sooner than the last time scared that the
fog will return stronger than last time we dance
in the sun together finally free from the chains
we laugh under the sun we laugh and love to be
I appreciate the days without the fog distorting the beauty of the world. I’m always worrying when it’ll come back though. I try not to. But it hangs in the back of my thoughts. I keep it in a small locked box. Sometimes the fog opens it but on these days I’m strong enough to keep locking it and return to my day. I enjoy this strength. This happiness. This beauty. I wish I can keep it going forever. But the fog is only sleeping. It needs its breaks too. This is a constant battle after all.
The trees are a bit greener. The birds sing more beautifully. The sun seeps into my skin and I glow. I smile for real this time. My laugh robust. I share this happiness with others. I walk with purpose. Head high with confidence.
It feels good. I feel good. I will cherish this moment all day.