" We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race…poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for…you are here - that life exists, and identity."
in ninth grade i memorized a monolog from the dead poet’s society for a class in school. i have never forgotten it. i have battled hard against depression, bipolar depression, for as long as i can remember. it’s a battle, most days, that i don’t feel at all like fighting. it’s painful, it burns, it aches, your chest feels heavy from hollowness which doesn’t make much sense but depression doesn’t make sense. i feel like i cover it up semi-well. i can smile & make jokes when every ounce of my being stings like a billion bees. i can tell students how it will get better while i question if it really can. we all wear masks & i believe people with mental illness can be the best actors. mental illness is scary to others unlike other illnesses. it’s dangerous. “oh her? yeah, stay away she’s crazy.” we learn how to hide, how to become other people, to build exoskeletons so people won’t judge, won’t leave. suicide is seen as selfish & easy but it is hard to wage a war, every day, that you may never win even with medication & a great doctor. it’s an awful thing but please don’t view it as weak & please remember to be kind to those around you & to reach out & check on the ones you love. sit in silence with then, hold their hand, ask ‘how can i help?’ a little effort can mean the difference between life & death- not always, but please try.
” the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse… What will your verse be?”