On the drive to Colorado last month, my friend and I had a conversation about depression. I remember saying to her something along the lines of, well, I've learned how to really appreciate the world and I can choose to see beautiful things everywhere and I don't know why I would let myself get depressed again.

And then a week ago I found myself writing this poem:

the old madness
chews at me. i find i am
astonished
at how easily it shrugs on my skin.
and suddenly
there are two of us here,
my mind and my madness,

elbowing each other
for room. the mind is fearful.
it is losing. the dark spittle of
the other greasing my skull.
i slip. i slip and darkness tastes
good again. darkness tastes good
again, and the bed seems so much
better than the sky.
and i try to pull focus,
close the apertures,
close the dreamdoor,
look only at this flower, this
doorknob, this square of wood
and sunlight, god save me
but it all rushes in and i dilate
and press my nails
to my palm. hard. the tragedy
of the world becomes
the world, beauty is a weapon

and memory burns. i cry,
i weep, i scream. in public,
no less. the others turn
their eyes away. oh
focus, focus,

listen. there is a drop
of rain
that falls from the eaves
to the cement. watch it.
watch nothing else.

I have learned about the beauty of the world, and another thing I've learned is not to be too attached to the feelings of this moment: they will pass. Still, it worries me to feel my edges curling again, and I find myself intensely relieved at the thought of my coming retreat. I feel like I have been clasping tight around my heart these past few weeks - I don't have time to be broken right now, I have to graduate! But soon, soon, there will be time and time for weeping and for cleansing and for sitting in one place and letting the world just be the world. I am grateful to the point of tears that I can take this time; as it turns out, gratitude is a good antidote to depression, too.