Kate LSY

“Why are you sad? 
What’s making you sad?”
They asked.
As if naming the demon could banish it. 
When the answer is
Nothing.
And everything.

Nothing’s making me sad.
I am.
And at the same time,
everything hurts. 

The sun: too bright.
The crowd: too much. 
The nothingness: too empty.
Even this—
this small conversation between you and I.
No. Don’t roll your eyes. 

Emotions: too overwhelming.
Overstimulation: time to shut down.
Numb out. 
The highs are high,
but never high enough
to make up for the lows of the low.
So flatten that line.
Feel nothing at all.
Just to survive it all.
Then the question begs—
why exist at all?

Someone once said—
“When I have a mandarin in my backpack,
it’s impossible to fall into a depression.
It really is that simple.”
I laughed—
hollow, bitter, 
the sound of slow suffocation.
I had those days too, you know?
The kind when breath felt enough,
when I wasn’t drowning on land. 
But then,
the demon clawed through my throat. 

“We could fix it,”
They said. 
“If we just had enough willpower.”
But the demon ate will too—
and left no bone dust.
Just me:
crumpled in bed,
hair oil-slick,
eyes blank,
listening to the demon whisper
in my voice:
Everyone’s a little depressed these days.
Don’t be so dramatic. 
Have a mandarin. 

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From Terms & Conditions May Apply, a collection of poems.
The Demon Ate —Where depression’s been kicking my ass this year.