Tomorrow Too

Waking up to a room that's not so stuffy,

My eyelids still droop, my mouth is dry

But stale beer doesn't permeate the air,

My head doesn't pound.

Reminding me of my lone conquest to live with

That which can't be avoided.

Depression is a pervasive thing,

elusive too.

Its symptoms for you may be different than mine.

But there's one constant.

It's a dragging, gently tugging feeling

That becomes normal, baseline.

With sticky fingers it wraps its hollow arms around you

And hugs you with its cool emptiness.

For me, it tastes like last night's beer,

burnt weed that exacerbates my dysphagia,

and nicotine: smoked or vaped.

Maybe too much ice cream too.

It feels like getting into bed alone with only my thoughts

after a night of trying to drown out the eroding emptiness.

Unwelcome feelings.

Strangely, it can be a comfort.

A reason to do nothing, to change nothing.

It feels like the linen sheets on my bed

and pairs easily with anxiety.

It looks like the fourth hour of TV at night.

When the lights finally go out, I can see its face.

Though it never smiles, it's not malicious.

That hasn't stopped it from killing.

It sounds like silence and sometimes white noise.

A buzzing, a distant rumble of engines, and voices

Drowning out the music of life.

It sounds like negating words:

"I don't need to..." or "It doesn't matter..."

It's odorous, but I don't care.

I have no one to see,

no one to be,

except for my unclean self.

There is no cure for depression, I think.

There is only the learning to live.

The getting out of bed when you're groggy,

The going outside when you're frustrated,

The exercising when you're tired,

The active avoidance of those numbing habits

When you're feeling .

Although I'm unsure if I can ever climb out,

What I do know is the actions that make me feel like I am

Are the ones worth repeating.

Today I got up,

I'll get up tomorrow too.