I Fall Apart Too

All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never realize how broken you really are.

I hurt. I cry. I shatter. I fall apart. I have days where I pray so hard I am afraid g-d may have stopped listening.

I think people have this notion of me that I am always put together, and that I am always fighting. But more often than not, I am just surviving.

For as long as I have been grieving, people have told me how strong I have become and how brave I am. And I know that I am tough, that I have suffered a great deal, but that does not mean that I am too tightly wound not to break.

I started this community so that I could hold myself accountable in terms of honesty and vulnerability, so I would be doing you all a disservice if I claimed that I am never weak, that I do not have my weak moments, and that everything that comes my way is handled right then and there. That is not the case for me, and my battle with depression is the perfect example.

The numbness came out of nowhere, and even though I was anticipating the celebration of my father’s birthday, I believed the grief would come and go like a wave. I never believed for one second that it would stay with me as long as it did.

Originally, I paid my feelings little thought; it was not the first time I had found myself in a cycle of sleepless nights. But it was not until I became detached from my own body, mind, and soul that I came to the realization that I had never experienced anything like this before.

Depression is not just sadness, but a battle and a fight. It turns your happiness and even your most favorite activities into foreign languages. It makes you feel like you do not even know your own self.

You wake up every morning to fight the same demon that left you so tired the night before, and that, my love, is bravery.

I wrote this next poem at a time when I could barely hold a conversation with someone. I fell into a deep, dark relationship with one word answers. When I was asked to open about how I was feeling, I responded with, “I am fine,” or I would laugh off my pain with a joke only I found funny.

I do not usually put out “trigger warnings,” but I think it is important to know that this poem dives heavily into the feeling of depression. If you do not wish to read on, then I please ask that you do not do so.

Depression does not last forever. I know it is a bitch of a battle to fight, but life will get better. Your numbness will fade, and you will rediscover the person you had lost for a bit of time. And when you do, you will feel stronger than you ever have before.