Being Me

Being Me

By Margaret Nicolas Decena Alpajora

Saturday 15 January 2011 [0121h]

I'm in a desparate state of depression;

Tears rolling down my face, out of place, making my heart race...

Searchin' for answers, I can't seem to find why my mind feels so fragile;

Why all of a sudden I feel like a black hole -

The emptiness, I can't make sense of this monotonous falling into the Abyss;

Feels like depression is an incubus, relentless, making me it's prey.

The one person I wanna turn to is in his own state of misery to talk to me,

The agony of not being able to hide behind the very essence of his presence consumes me.

The need to fall asleep listening to his voice

Cuz the noise in my head grows louder without it.

It's getting stronger; making me weak, unable to speak, unable to hear and to feel,

And there's no way I'm falling asleep any other way today.

I can't tell him that I'm falling apart, torn into shards;

Not while he has his own shit to deal with -

Feelin like a misfit, being pushed away; gone is my gravity.

My superstar has been covered by the clouds;

I can't see his light shine - he aint around to save me.

But wait, what happened to Superman?

The one person I can turn to whenever I'm not one hundred percent;

My true friend, accidental left hand man, always been there from beggining to end.

Oh yeah, he's on the phone, and I know with who -

I can't interject, I won't disrespect, and affect what is to be assumed a happy conversation.

Who am I to get in the way of friend with a smile?

Juvinile is what I am, if I have to depend on a friend whenever I don't feel like me, myself and I.

So I turn to my laptop, turn it on, ignore the backdrop, and what next?

Facebook, what else? I've gotta write;

It's all I've got now that there isn't anybody in sight who might be able to save me from this empty night.

It's a little too late to say I'ma be okay, the slight delay has driven me too insane to cure my brain,

And fix my broken soul...

... Well, maybe tomorrow.

Gotta swallow my pride and put it aside and admit

That I don't have a clue why the hell I feel like hell...!

What's sad is it don't feel psychological;

Is it possible, or even logical that this mess could be medical?

I feel the physical ache, the dizziness, the numbness, the pain.

It's normal for me when depressed, in a mess, but I usually know what's causing the stress,

And it's never been this intense; it doesn't make sense.

My heart is speeding up, chest in pain, going insane, my head is numb;

I think I'll drown it in the mellow green grass when I'm done.

No mistaking, my body's aching, limbs are shaking; I'm findin it hard to type,

Hard to read, can't believe I managed to get this far while blinded by my leaking eyes,

Each breath feels tigher, sharper, more painful; making it more difficult to breathe.

I can barely see anymore, I think it's time to say goodnight, time to dream;

Time to go back to my nightmares & jolt awake before I can even fall asleep,

And that's what makes my poetry - Consider me a tragidy.

No time for livin' in fantasies; That's just reality...

Yeah, that's life being me, you see?

Copyright (c) Margaret Nicolas Decena Alpajora, 2011

15 January 2011