You Are a Snowball

you are a snowball

rolling downhill with unstoppable force

with each revolution you grow and grow and grow 

all that touches you sticks like glue upon glacial skin

the larger you get the faster you move

objects at the edge of your vision begin to blur but you keep rolling and growing and allowing the excess to glom onto your 

various facades 

the world 

your world 

realize what's happening 

they ask what they can do to help

voices pleading at you from the sidelines

what can I do to make this better

how can I help you

I have reading material all about this sort of thing 

do you want to borrow it

as much as you want to slow down 

you cannot 

you want to blow open the truth

gripe to the sideliners 

I am afraid 

to be alone out here

I so desperately want 

to feel warm  

but as the submission swims up from your subconscious 

you know it sounds too lofty 

too much to put upon the world

when you are heavy with the weight of snow 

you are a burden 

so instead you say in a small voice

I'm fine 

surely I will slow down sooner or later

the core of you

that integral piece of your soul that was so important when beginning this journey 

is buried deep inside a casing of hard packed ice

you can no longer find the you inside of you 

perhaps it oozed out 

the way ice cream leaks from the bottom of a cone

leaving sticky sweet remnants of all that escaped

as you spin across this wintry landscape you question

why you care about what the world thinks anyway

but the answer is clear

because you love the world 

so you roll on

waiting 

for warm weather

to arrive

***

The warm weather has arrived, and I am feeling reflective. I wrote this piece, just after throwing my life into utter chaos.

It has been sitting in drafts ever since.

In early January, I quit my job. I had zero financial net to catch the inevitable fall that would happen soon after. I had just signed separation papers, effectively severing mine and my husband’s 14-year-long marriage.  My mental health was dwindling by the second. I was wildly flailing in the ether, both emotionally and mentally.

It felt as though there was no way out.

So I wrote.

I’m not sure why I never published this poem. Maybe it was because I felt the snowball analogy was a tired one. I wanted to enunciate the pain I felt while also highlighting the bitter fact that I’ve brought much of this on myself.

all that touches you sticks like glue upon glacial skin

It seemed that any decision I made during that time, was the wrong decision. It stuck to me, weighing me down with burdens I couldn’t handle then. All these newfangled hardships created a mounting indecision each time I faced yet another hurdle to overcome.

It is a terrifying prospect to be pushing forty, with no financial stability, no career prospects and having just lost the love of your life.

Friends and family would call me constantly, asking what they could do to help my situation, but it felt hopeless. There was nothing they could do to help because I thought that I was a lost cause. Unhelpable, unworthy of my loved one’s generosity.

when you are heavy with the weight of snow 

you are a burden

Depression does that to a person; it lies to us and tells us every minute of the day that we are not worthy of contentment. It tells us we deserve the cold snow to pile up on our tired bodies. It reminds us of all the mistakes we’ve made. It teaches us to hold our flaws close to the soul.

And slowly, we begin to lose ourselves. We forget who we are and become husks of the original. We become small and meek, never laugh heartily, and only pretend to play.

For many of us, we become very good at being functional in our depression. We tell people we are fine, and while saying that, we scream internally.

I would smile and joke around, but in my gut, I’d cry and plead for my company to see the pain I was in. I just wanted to feel validated in my sorrow.

I am afraid 

to be alone out here

I so desperately want 

to feel warm

When I am in a depressive state, it feels as though everything is monochromatic. Life is made up of dreary gray; no punctuation can liven up the words. No capitalization to start a sentence because there is no beginning or end to the sentence; it all just is.

Everything means nothing and what’s the point of all this anyways?

that integral piece of your soul that was so important when beginning this journey 

is buried deep inside a casing of hard packed ice

Maybe I should have published this piece back then when things were at their worst. Maybe it would have felt good to let people know my anguish at the time. There is a particular torture that comes with heartache and loss, and it’s almost incalculable. Maybe I worried that the poem wouldn’t come across as I wanted it to—yet another shortcoming from the world of Linsay Rae Brown.

That is a real possibility. I’m forever concerned about what others think of me.

as you spin across this wintry landscape you question

why you care about what the world thinks anyway

The hopeful part of me, which has never fully died during these moments of darkness, thinks that I didn’t publish the piece because I knew, that one day, just as the poem warns, the warm weather would indeed return.

My greatest toxic trait is trying to “get through it” alone. I don’t want to bother friends and family with something as mundane as my silly bouts of sadness. So, I try to weather the storm alone.

The warm weather will return, and once it does, the cold and snow will feel like a distant memory that is difficult to recall while the sun beats down on my smiling face.

Why share a piece of writing that would remind me and others of how low I can go.

However, now that I have, now that this thing is out in the world, I realize that writing true words about the tough times doesn’t condemn me to the memory of those moments. It allows me to appreciate my strength in getting through.

It reminds me to be grateful for the warm weather that always follows.