I was taught to be beautiful, no matter what I was going through.
A sacred ritual passed down—lipstick, clean clothes, perfume. Even in despair, my outer world had to glow. I’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
High-functioning depression means I show up glowing—
even when I’m collapsing on the inside.
Because I was taught: no matter how you feel, look good so no one would know.
People assume I’m okay because I look okay.
Because I’m pretty. Because I dress well. Because I smile. Because I post.
But that’s the mask. That’s the part I learned young:
if you look put together, maybe no one will ask too many questions.
My mother raised and instilled in me to always show up looking good—no matter what. And so I did. Even when I was quietly dealing with depression, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts/attempts, a bottomless abyss of self-hate etc. I never wanted anyone to know. I just wanted to survive.
And now that I’m older that’s backfired. Now when I say, “I’m not okay,” people respond with, “But you look so good.”
As if beauty is proof of wellness.
As if pain can’t wear lipstick.
Not all sadness screams.
Some of it moves quietly—wrapped in silk, masked with laughter, walking through the world unnoticed.
High-functioning depression is being praised for your strength, carrying sorrow with elegance. All the while drowning in silence.
It’s shining bright, yet being invisible because you’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
It’s exhausting.
Truly
Too Soft
The Wall
A woman staring at a wall
Holds heartships, big time worry
No memory on Wednesdays
Her equilibriums all tired out
She wears and tears the seeds of a woman
She’s been staring at that wall damn near my whole life
Winners war
I’m not sure of what I am feeling, my heart can break, my ego; callous
What keeps me asleep is a range to run
Emotional in wake I bake the sun
Holes of bittersweet spit up, you nuzzling my breast till numb
Turning in, on and off
Tuning off, out and in
I attempt to sing those sensitive songs, I pretend with oneself, playing once upon a time
There’s no where to go as my soul is magnetic to your salvation, even here the space of our bodies deafening
I don’t know exactly why this fight takes flight, ideal is a winners war; no casualties
October 7, 2021
More trauma, more anger. You’d always ask if I was mad at you. Was it not what you wanted when we repeated “No”. You had to go and get yourself killed. Well now you have it. I am so f****** mad at you, and I hope you know it. I’m so angry at you, and I feel at the core I always have been. I’m pissed off at this soulless body. Explain the voices or rather the voice of you that haunts my mind attempting to console me after destroying me. I’m not enough, and nothing I ever do for anybody will ever be.
How could you not stay here for me, for X. My sun adored you and you left him. That same day I texted you a picture of him and told you about how I see you in him. How could you abandon us in this way. We saw each other all summer, you pulled up to my house whenever you wanted. I gave you allcolades told you I was proud. You were doing better, wanted to be a father, a grandpa, and you did your best. So why didn’t you fight for us, why didn’t you protect yourself, why didn’t you open your eyes and count your blessings.
Right now I sit beside you and you are unresponsive and I swear you’re here because your vessels reflexes are acting up. The way you continue to see right on through all the love that surrounds you is nothing different than how you denied it our whole lives. Maybe we were truly your problem, maybe I. Never good enough.
Honestly f*** you. Though I still wish you peace, just know I won’t have it.
I’m sorry too. You said you’d be here, that if I needed anything… My whole life, you just keep breaking my heart
Freegrandmaa 