To my depression

Here I am,
sitting in this empty room,
once filled with dreams,
now burned to ashes.

Dear depression,
this is to all the years you have taken from me
and to all the memories you broke.

I can still remember the time you came, how you entered my heart so quietly and how you started to conquer every inch of my mind. Sleep was my very saviour, and yet it was so difficult to escape your hungry arms and demanding behaviour. Suddenly everything I did was not good enough. Not enough. Nothing. I was stuck inbetween trying to please everyone and trying not to break down in tears. You held me a prisoner in my own body and I did not know how to escape. God, how I wish I had asked for help, but instead you made everything seem so small and all of my thoughts seemed beyond ridiculous. So I stayed quiet. I said nothing. I lay on my bathroom floor for hours and cried, until there were no more tears left. Blood dripping onto my body – but I never cut deep enough. You made me believe that I wasn’t even enough to end this pain, that I was a coward. Afraid of death. Frankly, I did not want to die. You wanted me to.  

Dear depression, I am sick of you. You have reduced me into something I am not – and when I glare into the mirror I see this young woman with so much pain, a woman who is afraid to seek help. Afraid of judgement. Afraid of her scars, upon wrists and soul. Yet still so strong, for walking upon shattered dreams and broken memories.

Dear depression, you will not kill me. For there are people that need what you have taken from me. And I will stay upon this earth, to give what I have lost. Hope, integrity and love.

Jehona Thaqi© If you are struggling with depression please ask for help! And if you need someone to talk to, I would gladly listen to you. You can contact me at any time.

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Black, bitter coffee

Black, bitter coffee on a sunday morning,
or was it monday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I sit silently in the corner of our living room,
my spine curled and pressed against the wall;
so much space upon the couch we bought,
but I am afraid of not being able to fill the spaces you have left empty.

Black, bitter coffe on a friday night,
or was it saturday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I weep into the freshly washed cussions of our bed,
they smell like lilies and honey,
they smell nothing like you, for I have washed them too many times since the last time you visited,
your scent has vanished out of this house,
yet it is present in everything I touch.

Black, bitter coffee on a wednesday afternoon,
or was it tuesday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I sit at our dining table and read about wars far from home,
I read of homes destroyed, and people buried underneath them,
I cry;
you used to say that there are people dying, 
when I told you that I could not breathe at night, you said that I am fine,
when the lights turned off and my body was shaking in agony of losing the war against my mind, you said that I am egoistic;
I feel the guilt within my tears drown the last hope of winning the wars within me,
I can see people dying, somewhere far,
yet so close.

Black, bitter coffee;
I drink to stay awake,
for the nights scare me,
and there are dreams lurking in the corners of this house,
dreams I do not want to have,
for my dreams have been shattered too many times.

Black, bitter coffee;
I do not sleep anymore
and I have forgotten the days,
just as the days have forgotten me.

Jehona Thaqi©

Breathing

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin,
with hands around these thighs
and feet unable to stand still.

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin,
yet in this room I stand alone
but your hands are still at places they shouldn’t be.

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin;
sometimes I forget who I am
and I forget who you have become.

I glare into the mirror,
and I can still hear you breathe
– heavily and tired.

I close my eyes,
now standing still,
and as your hands touch the ground
I think of your hopeless dreams
and living nightmares.

I wish you would stop –

breathing
.

I wish I could begin –

breathing

alone.

Jehona Thaqi©

Please share your thoughts and interpretation of this piece with me. I will be glad to share some of your thoughts. Contact: thaqi.jehona@hotmail.com