#depression
Without saying “I’m sorry.”
1. “I wish I could help but my plate is pretty full right now.”
2. “I have said yes to too many things lately and I’m honestly overwhelmed at the moment.”
3. “I am not accepting any new tasks right now.” (I use this a lot and even though it is firm, I get positive responses because it’s relatable).
4. “I am over-committed right now, but I hope you find the help you need.”
5. “That’s my night to spend time with my family but thank you for asking me.”
6. “I’d love to but my schedule is packed right now.”
7. “That’s not a good day/time for me.”
8. “That’s not really my area, but thank you for thinking of me.”
9. “I’m honored but I can’t this time.”
10. “Thank you but this isn’t something I’m able to take on right now.”
11. “I am needed somewhere else that day, but thank you.”
12. “I am limiting my commitments right now.”
13. “I am honestly not able to dedicate the time right now.”
14. If you are disabled: “Spoons are low, so today is not a good day for this.” (try using “bandwidth” instead of “spoons” if you are not disabled so we can preserve the meaning of “spoons.”)
15. “That’s not a good fit for me, but (offer a genuine alternative).”
I feel as if my whole life has set me up for disaster. That every day has been a push towards the edge. Every breath is buried with burden. The mornings are filled with guilt, I swallow my words for breakfast, drink my sorrows whole. The nights are meant for battles, sinking into sheets, dread mixed with dreams. Hope slips through my heart, gets lost in the broken cracks. I am clinging to loose threads, dangling over the darkness. Each passing minute is a moment spent with misery. All the years of wasted youth, the ghosts of who I’ll never be, all trail behind me. The hauntings of never really living, the reality that this world has only offered me wreckage; it’s a truth I’ve carried in my throat for far too long. So I’m stuck coughing up the chaos, growing in the gloom.
Isabel Cabrera
I am a woman trapped with a little girl’s trauma. Her hands cling to mine, a tiny mirror of all that’s broken and bruised. She hides in every cracked corner, makes friends with the shadows and secrets that haunt me. She’s made of sorrow and small reminders. She lives in me. She’s forced a home out of my heart and collects every shattered piece, clings to every sharp edge. She’s stayed with me through my teens, never to leave throughout my twenties. She’s white noise gone dark, background music to every lost part. I try to rid her out of my bloodstream, cut and scrape her away. But she lingers like a silent scar of the past, always meant to be apart of me. These days I can’t even face her because when I look into her eyes, all I see are mine.
Isabel Cabrera
The world keeps spinning like it doesn’t even know it’s in pieces. And I am tired of tripping on the broken, getting caught up on the shattered promises. There are wishes under my feet, hopes crushed at the seams. Why is the sky still blue when it’s so dark inside my head? Why does the sun rise just to never touch me with warmth? I feel life laughing at me, I feel the weight of wreckage it dumps on my shoulders. I can’t continue to carry this chaos. The sorrow has settled in, there’s pain tucked into my skin. My universe is at a standstill, but no one else seems to notice. Life seems like a blur these days, all smudged lights, silhouettes meant for passing by. I suppose I have no choice but to face the ruin, masked with a faux smile; painted pretty, ready for pretending.
Isabel Cabrera
I hide my feelings, dig so deep into the soil, try to place them down below. But then I remember, whatever is planted will always grow. They sprout with fierce reminders, splintered souls made for breaking skin. I should’ve known that one day, I’d have to face my past again.
Isabel Cabrera
There are days I cannot be strong. Nights I rather drown in tear stained sheets than wade in the ruin. Sometimes my soul is tired of trying. Sometimes my mind must be messy within itself. I cannot force myself to carry the weight of wreckage when my heart is weak. There are moments it must be laid to rest, that I must be put in place. And that does not mean I am giving up, it does not mean I surrender to the madness. It simply shows I’ve been fighting so hard I need to settle into the chaos. Sometimes I need to sleep with my sorrow, let it surround me until tomorrow.
Isabel Cabrera
I can’t keep digging myself out of this grave each morning. The weight of misery mounted on my chest is too much. This bag of bones, this mess of mind and hair, this ink stained flesh; all too heavy to hold. The hope is slipping out of my fingers, threads cling to broken nails, get caught on sharp edges. Seams stitched just to come apart again, scars heal only to be reopened. I am a melted and mended child. A tattered and torn up soul. I can’t continue to drag my feet across this earth, it hands me nothing but broken promises. I’m sick of walking on shattered wishes. I am a corpse gone cold, lying in a bed made for giving up. I heal only to hurt, love only to lose, live only to survive. Let me lay here, let me forget to come back to life.
chaos is caged in my chest. misery runs through veins, guilt is growing in my lungs. there’s traces of ruin tangled in my hair, and wreckage wrapped around my wrists. i let the sorrows seep into my skin. crimson red painted on arms, blue running from heart to head. i bury myself into bruises, and count cuts like stars. a rattled soul, a walking worry scrambling to carry the weight of a world. i dream in dread, speak in heartbreak. my existence is a fog, a memory burning just to get lost in the smoke. there is no difference between night and day, both are stuck on midnight. i’m waiting for a sun rise. but hope has fallen from shaky hands, got trapped in truth. i won’t see the sun when i’m stuck in a sky without a moon.
You let sorry sleep in your throat, made it a permanent bed. You’ll cough it up at any chance, you think everything is your fault. You carry a chaos inside your chest, it bangs and scratches at your bones. One day it’ll overflow. Your flesh is not paper, you are not a canvas to a razor. The scars will only be souvenirs of broken moments. You will say they’re stories, but you know they feel more like landmarks of how you failed. Your mind is messy, your heart is aching. Your skin crawls at the thought of it all. You shove the sadness deep into your pit, let it rot and sit. It boils over, only builds to burn you. You’ve become a ghost of a girl, a single haunt to an abandoned home. Who you are, and who you were, are two strangers fighting to open the front door. You are at a constant war. You are too young to be this blue, too quiet for such noise in your head. You were not born to wish to be dead. You’ve got a softness inside you that melts and bends. You speak in sighs, talk with your eyes. There’s a garden of guilt growing in your lungs, the days go down and it’s only getting harder to breathe. It’s all too much for your simple soul, too complicated to control. You bear a weight of a world that only wishes to ruin you. Six feet under soil without a shovel, a walking wreckage trying to grow from rotting roots. You were meant to flourish, meant to bloom into something sun kissed, but warmth hasn’t touched your body in ages. Little girl, set fire to the dark, burn the bridges it crosses to your heart. Turn the rust to gold, bring the death to destruction. Dig the doom out of your hair, let misery melt by the moon. You are an angel with her halo hung low, a shadow of a girl with broken wings. But please, please stay for life and what it brings. You have worth inside you, a purpose pumping through pulse. Hold onto the hope you carry in your palms. Swing from the stars, girl, you are their child. Made from the dust of the dying, you were always meant to shine, always meant to find the light. But sometimes we must collapse before we turn bright.
Isabel Cabrera/ note to self
I was clean
I relapsed……. I took a blade to my skin and cut it open… I’m a failure….. it would be better if I was dead.
Why
Why is it that when hes here he makes me so happy but so sad at the same time. But when hes gone I almost kill myself.
I’ve stopped eating. And no one has even noticed….
Jonathan
I want to message him but I’m not sure if I should. I want to talk to him but I’m not sure if he wants too. The last thing I said to him was that he’d never hear about from me. Or about me every again. I was upset. I was mad at what he did. I didn’t mean it. I still dont. I wish I never meet him. I wish he was never in my life. I want to die. And hes the reason why. Yet hes the reason I’m here. I dont know what to do.
