Depression Aid

Letters To Myself: I Still Love You When You Don’t

Letters To Myself: I Still Love You When You Don’t

This is a journal entry from a sleepless night spent stressing about my perceived laziness at school (and the “imminent failure” caused by my imperfections). I want to show real life mental dialogues and how to think yourself out of them…

I feel like garbage. How can I become more honest with myself? I acknowledge the damage done by my ego, but what am I to do about it? I’m too hazy to meditate. Do I understand so little about no-self that my self opposes it?

Between my ears lies the agonizing anticipation
of something I’ve forgotten to realize.
Buzzing like the crack of fire as it races
down to light the dynamite,
My mind fits through moods.

I barely use my eyes anymore.
I can’t see the lines of bottles on my shelf,
that echo the untouched books of help beside them.
Everything I do is lap distance.
My whole world is bent between my knees and elbows.

Who can I resent for this?
Whose misinformation trickled to my ears,
swearing lies of laws.
Building up each lap duty so that if I
fail even one,
“All will be lost.”
The desperation keeps me from taking the time
to use my senses because
If I miss one second,
“All will be lost.”

How do you soften the shoulders of David?
Who is it that smooths a marble brow?

Lend me your chisel,
and I’ll carve out the ache,
And ache with that hole,
till I don’t know if I am the absence
or substance.

I look at myself with concern and think:
“You should relax, you’re being too hard on yourself.”
And my self turns around to pass on the message.

I don’t know how to do it. I can remember when I was happy just to be, and I am irritated by the person I was then. “How dare she be so…”

I’m choosing to stay like this. It feels more adult to be stressed out, and I have to make up for living at my parent’s house somehow.


…and these are all thoughts my brain is creating in this moment. My hand has learned to move in such a way that I will hear my thoughts over and over again when I look at this flattened tree. But I do know how to get out of this mood:

I still love you Sarah,

When you miss class and spend half the day on the couch. I love you when you make superficial art and check how many likes it has. I genuinely do love you when you have zits between your eyebrows. I love you when you shovel the driveway for your family and bring pop champagne to celebrate you sister’s first day at school. I love you when you have a messy room and have to wear sweatpants because you don’t do laundry. I still love you when you burn your face with apple cider vinegar because Pinterest told you it would be a good idea. I love you when you write in your journal as if there were an audience and when you have random bursts of sewing creativity that end up in  greater mess and more cut up half sewn clothes than finished projects. I love you when you avoid every decision that is stressing you out and when you try to find solutions to your family members problems every night before bed. I love you when you are uncertain about your career choice and your future and when unanswered emails weigh you down like wet jeans.

You look the way you look. You sound the way you sound. And you’re doing what you’re doing.

Sarah Nicholson