Light Filters In: Poems

by Caroline Kaufman

question: how will my mental illness affect my romantic relationships? what will happen when I become emotionally vulnerable? will they stay?

hypothesis: if my significant other sees all the symptoms of my mental illness, then they will leave. if my significant other sees all the symptoms of my mental illness, then they will decide it is not worth it. they will decide I am not worth it.

experiment: wait and see how much they can take of me before they leave.

conclusion: my hypothesis was, in some ways, correct: most people did not stay. some people tried to cure me, and got frustrated when they couldn’t. some people didn’t believe me, and got scared off when I had my first breakdown. some people simply got bored. but not all of them. and I know I shouldn’t rely on love from other people. but if someone else can love me, that means it’s possible for me to do it as well. conclusion: I am lovable.

the only way to prevent a car crash is to never drive in the first place. and I guess that’s why I won’t let myself fall in love again.

I’ve always been intrigued by hands. how the same mesh of bone and blood and nail that caresses a face cooks a meal holds a child can also form a fist grip a neck pull a trigger. we all have hands. we all have the potential to protect and create and love. we all have hands. we all have the potential to hurt and steal and kill. we all have hands. but what we use them for is up to us.

when it comes to suicide, we like to talk about how the person died: a gun to the head, an overdose, a rope hanging from the ceiling. but people do not die from a rope hanging from the ceiling. people die from depression. a person dies from suicide— from depression— every forty seconds. I am only one person with one life with one story. but everyone has their stack of stanzas. some people just don’t live long enough to publish them. while you were reading this, someone committed suicide. this page is for them.

lost: depression. tired eyes, raw nail beds, always in a baggy sweater. last seen the other day for a split second in math class, telling me she missed me. if found: please tell her she is not welcome here. she does not control me anymore.

I used to think that the opposite of darkness was sunlight, that the opposite of depression was happiness. now I know that during the day there are clouds and rain and snow. outside of depression there is pain and joy and anger. after years of flood and drought, what a relief it is to see the tide rise and fall again. to bask in blue without being consumed by it. to swim without wanting to drown. what a relief it is to live a life I am excited to wake up to.

this year, I fell in love with myself. I told myself thank you. I’m sorry. it’s okay. thank you for fighting to survive even when I don’t want to. I’m sorry I blame you for things you can’t control. it’s okay that you’re not perfect I will love you anyway.

be grateful that time will heal the wounds but leave the scars. how else will you remember all that you’ve survived?

don’t ask for respect; demand it. don’t look for opportunity; grab it. don’t add to the world; change it.