apricot milk

. . . like apples of gold in pictures of silver — memory, etc.

Month: October, 2013


the word “depression” spoken on someone else’s tongue about you makes a strange feeling.

we had talked about activism, about going to discussion groups, volunteering, exploring new places. i had told her getting out of bed was the last thing i wanted to do. but i made myself do it, just for work. so i nodded to her statement. i thought all manner of thoughts when someone thinks their feelings are not justified, because i live in this world & have this good family. but i knew she was right; it wasn’t my fault.

she looked at me smiling a bit as i wiped tears. “it’s been kind of a rude awakening. … and you don’t feel well. since we establish that, we can start with the basics.”

i nodded again. “okay.”

afterward, it was all bright outside, very cold and the wind moving fast. i walked down to the station almost laughing to myself, because i never thought i could be here slowly exposing everything to someone i met only a month ago. throughout the previous week i had to think of good things about myself, but i noticed it did not make me feel better, maybe even worse. “i don’t see myself as confident,” i had said. that i’m almost afraid to try to sleep but it’s what i want more than anything.

so, i don’t know what’s going to happen or when i will start to feel completely awake again. although on the bus yesterday, i was exhausted, but as the sun came up two women talked about being doctors and coming from different countries. as long as i have a chance to sit in silence and listen, i can feel like myself again for a little while.




have you ever seen pictures of sunlit wooden floors, empty rooms, and wondered what it would be like to live there? i feel almost guilty, wanting all space to myself. just me and the light through the windows. but living alone is lonely, too. i wouldn’t come home to cinnamon and apple and pie crusts, or the tv blaring or laughter. not unless i chose to have someone come with me. and for years it’s been a friend to grow with, but for years i have wanted someone to read with. one to sit in the corner of the couch in the dark, to shove pillows aside or together. warmth, touch. and the one i loved would be at the kitchen counter spilling coffee. i thought maybe, with us, we could have.

but passive rejection can be the worst kind of rejection. i prefer a direct answer, but it seems every could-have in my life has ended slowly, like scraping, the connection loosening on one end. which end, why can’t he tell me, why do i have to be the only honest one, the one to say i’ve missed you? my therapist (strange two words to type) says i valued our connection, even though i still felt he did not care as much. because i knew you a little before i knew you. at the beginning, it was all a burst of dim light. lights off. then that soft rain as we rested our chins on your windowsill. “what made you think he was the right first one?” she asked. i said, “i thought he would treat me right. and he seemed to like me.”