We’re back with another #SpokenWordSaturday!!! EEEEeeEEEEeEeeeee. Let’s talk about depression, baby. Let’s talk about you and me. (Hi, Spike, fictional vampire that I’m still low-key in love with…)
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Whenever I fall into a bad depressive episode,
I usually end up doing a lot of the same thing:
binge-watching one of my favorite TV shows,
Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
And no, it’s not just because I’ve had a case of burning loins for the Big Bad Spike since middle school, but because, in my current state,
I decide Sunnydale, what with it’s alarming mortality rate
and all those demons running amuck,
is still a preferred reality to the one I’m living.
The one that has me feeling all this empty.
Because that’s the thing about depression.
We paint it like it’s so glamorous,
That it’s an artist’s great pain,
A deep sadness,
I don’t know,
Say maybe being a vampire cursed with a soul and falling in love with the Slayer!
what with all that brooding and longing.
But that’s Hollywood depression.
That’s blood and guts
And intensity splattered across a screen.
And dammit if I’m not a little jealous sometimes.
If in my lowest moments,
I envy Buffy with her fucked up relationships and never-ending need to be the martyr.
At least she feels something.
At least she knows her purpose.
Even if she lost it a little in season 6,
we were still rooting for her.
Depression is no one rooting,
even if they actually are.
Depression is a blank television screen
staring at it so you can convince those around you
you still see it.
You still see those images dancing
when it’s just static.
It’s all static.
So I binge watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer
and think about calling him,
or any of them.
Ones that don’t even exist in this lifetime.
But maybe that’s why I love a show that features people back from the grave.
Maybe I like playing make-believe a little too much.
Any sort of fantasy I can sip on.
Oh she’s on every channel and I can’t mute her.
So I try to mute her.
Scoobies have been through worse,
End of the world and I’m here feeling nothingness.
So maybe the Apocalypse would feel like somethingness.
Depression isn’t big or grand.
It’s in the smallest moments,
Like getting in the shower,
or looking at your phone.
Wanting a remedy,
To even fuck your own demons like Buffy did
so you can remember how to find your way home.
I binge watch Buffy and remember I can still find my way home.
So I can stop saying Yes
when I’m asked,
“Are you still watching?”