The following poems are first and foremost about my personal experiences with depression and anxiety. That\u2019s just how they started. However, as I went through and revised them, fixing wording here and punctuation there, I found myself wanting to explore the relationship between my mental illnesses and my identity. In the past several years, since starting college, I\u2019ve struggled a lot, trying to find the balance between Depressed Emily, Anxious Emily, and Normal Emily that felt the most true to myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve never been one to take my own mental illnesses and romanticize them, so linking the illnesses to my love for writing poetry didn\u2019t feel right, but it didn\u2019t feel honest to say they play no part in the process either. What\u2019s more, each of those versions of myself is just one facet of the whole person. I\u2019m not me without them just the same as I\u2019m not me just because I have them. On making those realizations this project took a new turn. Instead of focusing solely on experience, I changed my direction to explore more of the relationship between myself and my mental illness\u2014each version of myself individually, how they all play together\u2014as well as how they impact my relationship with the people around me, be they strangers or loved ones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The purpose of this project isn\u2019t to make a broad statement about disability in general\u2014I have no right to be the sole voice, especially because my disabilities don\u2019t extend into the physical. Instead, I want to shed some light on some of the inner workings of mental illness, specifically depression and anxiety, in order to bring the complicated nature of it all into focus. I hope that the poems I\u2019ve written don\u2019t come across as romanticizing in any way, nor do I hope they belittle. Instead, I hope when you read you find them authentic and real, showing many different facets of what it means to be human.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hindsight<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to tell you about the good things, too, I mean<\/p>\n\n\n\n it wasn\u2019t all awful I just don\u2019t remember anything else<\/p>\n\n\n\n but the air smelling dirty and burning and feeling like<\/p>\n\n\n\n suffocating in concrete and also missing the green and<\/p>\n\n\n\n skipping a presentation in my speech class because my<\/p>\n\n\n\n suitemates thought I was having a heart attack (it was<\/p>\n\n\n\n just anxiety and the ER nurse was annoyed with me<\/p>\n\n\n\n until I mentioned you had died, in which case she nodded<\/p>\n\n\n\n like she finally got it) and my professor asked me about<\/p>\n\n\n\n the trip the next day in class, in front of everyone, and I had to<\/p>\n\n\n\n explain, \u201coh, I\u2019m fine, it was all a misunderstanding,\u201d but<\/p>\n\n\n\n she was nice about it and after that I started seeing a<\/p>\n\n\n\n therapist, Dr. T, and if it weren\u2019t for her I\u2019d probably be<\/p>\n\n\n\n squished under the Green Line at Boylston Street Station<\/p>\n\n\n\n which she said was passive suicidal ideation and anyways<\/p>\n\n\n\n walking through Harvard Square to see Dr. T is one of<\/p>\n\n\n\n my favorite memories of the city because, for once, I<\/p>\n\n\n\n felt like I could breathe and not be stealing someone else\u2019s air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n Auditory Anxiety<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s like this: I know in my gut something\u2019s wrong<\/p>\n\n\n\n because it leaves a bad taste in my mouth<\/p>\n\n\n\n whenever I leave the room and they start talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No, no, sorry, it\u2019s not a bad taste in my mouth<\/p>\n\n\n\n it\u2019s my whole brain tensing up, it\u2019s my blood<\/p>\n\n\n\n stampeding through my chest up to my ears and<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s like this: I hold my breath so I won\u2019t move<\/p>\n\n\n\n but I still feel my fingers wiggling so I lock up<\/p>\n\n\n\n every joint muscle nerve, begging for silence<\/p>\n\n\n\n to come free me but some stupid tears sneak out<\/p>\n\n\n\n and tickle my ears like they\u2019re teasing me and<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve never felt so out of control as when the snap<\/p>\n\n\n\n of my breath sent me running, no, crawling<\/p>\n\n\n\n to press my ear against the wall the crack under the door<\/p>\n\n\n\n anything to fill in the blanks and<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s like this: When it gets so bad I can\u2019t even breathe,<\/p>\n\n\n\n I know I can\u2019t trust what I hear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n All the Little Selves<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Every now and then we hold meetings<\/p>\n\n\n\n to check-in with one another, sit at the round<\/p>\n\n\n\n table and ask questions like \u201chow are you feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n and \u201cwhat have you been up to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s not always the same because<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not always the same. Sometimes<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m the monochrome, others the<\/p>\n\n\n\n cartoon. Today I\u2019m neither. I\u2019m plain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s not that we don\u2019t see each other\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n The monochrome visits at night, slips<\/p>\n\n\n\n under the covers to keep me warm while<\/p>\n\n\n\n I dream and talks to me when I can\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n The cartoon finds me in crowds, appears<\/p>\n\n\n\n behind new people, pantomiming surprise<\/p>\n\n\n\n to see me there, clambers up onto the shoulders<\/p>\n\n\n\n of strangers, looks to the sky for pianos and anvils.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n Today we\u2019re talking about ourselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They haven\u2019t visited recently and, if I\u2019m being honest,<\/p>\n\n\n\n I miss them. I tell them that and they look at me confused,<\/p>\n\n\n\n silent, take one hand each and squeeze. A promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n Perspectives<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Even at rock bottom I never saw myself as<\/p>\n\n\n\n broken. Just faded, dulled, muted. I\u2019d look<\/p>\n\n\n\n at the world and be frightened by the vibrancy,<\/p>\n\n\n\n wishing for the easy comfort of my bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes they seemed like they were screaming<\/p>\n\n\n\n technicolor murder, and on those days I\u2019d<\/p>\n\n\n\n stay safe under the covers, blank. That was back when<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t find where my shadows stopped and I<\/p>\n\n\n\n began. I was so wrapped up in them we were<\/p>\n\n\n\n inseparable, like one big knot. Pisces season<\/p>\n\n\n\n never was very kind to me, but I still greet<\/p>\n\n\n\n her all the same, each tangled finger waving,<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n To the Me I Was Before<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Were you watching? Did you see when<\/p>\n\n\n\n I cut, colored, dyed, pierced, molded myself<\/p>\n\n\n\n in the absence of your shadow, practiced<\/p>\n\n\n\n unfurling my edges and pressing out the creases.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It didn\u2019t stick at first\u2014it\u2019s hard to take up space<\/p>\n\n\n\n when you\u2019re so used to folding in on yourself,<\/p>\n\n\n\n after all, but I\u2019ve decided to let myself be,<\/p>\n\n\n\n to expand and contract as I need to, to let<\/p>\n\n\n\n the colors permeate through me so I can feel<\/p>\n\n\n\n entire spectrums of light. In this time of<\/p>\n\n\n\n me, me, me, this absence of your me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to spark life back into these hollows.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to be bright again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The following poems are first and foremost about my personal experiences with depression and anxiety. That\u2019s just how they started. However, as I went through and revised them, fixing wording here and punctuation there, I found myself wanting to explore the relationship between my mental illnesses and my identity. In the past several years, since … Continue reading “Saunders Major Project: Poetry Collection”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":87,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[63,60,209,208],"class_list":["post-2041","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-major-paper-project","tag-major-project","tag-mpp","tag-saunders"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pcJhts-wV","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2041","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/87"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2041"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2041\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2043,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2041\/revisions\/2043"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2041"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2041"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2041"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}