I told my momma I wasn't feeling good today.
She stopped, looked over to me unsure of what to say.
She said to me, "well sweety did you pray?"
Come with me, she said. I got out of my bed, kneeled beside it and that night, we prayed it away.
I told my brother i wasnt going to school
My anxiety was having a blast making me an outcast
Each day I dreaded getting out of the bed
He threatened to tell momma if I didnt up right that second
I got up, swinging my feet over the bed
Before he left "depression is for white people" is what he said
I told my daddy I was sad
I was really sad
I confided with how sometimes i got so sad id do anything to end my misery
"Even take your own life" hed ask
I nodded. Saying thats exactly it.
He nodded.
Before pointing out the window, to the poverty outside
To me, he said, "There's people out there without a home. Collecting trash to scrape pennies for their next meal. Be glad you have food and clothes."
I nodded. Absorbing the idea that I was selfish. I was asking for too much. I had everything. What did i need happiness for?
I told my grandmother I hadn't want to go the party.
I could hear the bass of my family downstairs, all having a blast celebrating togetherness.
She chimed, a small smile slowly coming off her face once she seen my seriousness.
But it never left, actually appeared once more, vibrant than before.
"Stop having a bad attitude and have some fun," she said
But it wasnt a bad attitude. My frown baracaded the door witth all of its heaviest funiture, sending a message from my depression that it was there to stay.
"Fix your face before I fix it for you." she said.
I did as told. Went to the party. But instead of grooving along with everyone, I headed for the kitchen. Finding the sharpest knife. I deserved to be happy for once. And maybe dead, id be as happy as everyone in the living room, dancing.
