BTS: I'm Fine
From: The Sylvia Plath in me
I've been dead all day. That's why, when you asked why
I wasn't talking, could do nothing but shrug, If I spoke about the death of my soul on that very day, you
wouldnt understand.
I was there, and breathing, and living, but
I was dead. My body cold and my face wet. The thoughts in my mind
only thinking of pain. Only feeling death and hopelessness. Yet the
world moves on and the world still lives. I'm an anomaly, as far as
anyone's concerned, because here I am sitting on a bright sunny day.
Nothing has gone wrong, and everyone else is talking and laughing.
Yet I sit here, lifeless and full of pain. Empty of hope, my whole soul
screaming in pain as if someone had stabbed me. I sit here turning
cold and bleeding out, the life slowly fading away. “What's wrong
with her?" They'll think. "She should be fine.”
What's wrong with me?
I've been dead all day. That's why, when you asked why I wasn't talking, could do nothing but shrug, If I spoke about the death of my soul on that very day, you wouldn’t understand.
It's hard to explain depression, because it's not a simple sadness. Not something that can go away with a good day.
I was there, and breathing, and living, but
I was dead. My body cold and my face wet. The thoughts in my mind
only thinking of pain. Only feeling death and hopelessness. Yet the
world moves on and the world still lives.
It's hard for people to understand depression while in their own happiness. Meanwhile you have a whole war going on inside your head.
I'm an anomaly, as far as anyone's concerned, because here I am sitting on a bright sunny day.
Nothing has gone wrong, and everyone else is talking and laughing.
Yet I sit here, lifeless and full of pain. Empty of hope, my whole soul
screaming in pain as if someone had stabbed me.
Physical pain is better understood. You have a pain that you can point to. Something visible that people can see is wrong. It's hard to understand one's profound pain, when everything on the outside seems normal. Yet, it can hurt just as much, if not worse.
I sit here turning
cold and bleeding out, the life slowly fading away. “What's wrong
with her?" They'll think. "She should be fine.”
What's wrong with me?
It was hard not to feel shame and guilt when I went through depression. It could easily seem like I wanted to be sad about everything. About things that seemed small. Without a specific issue to pinpoint for my pain, no one realized what was going on beneath the surface.