This is a poem by
Kait Rokowski.
It is far beyond amazing, and aptly sums up so much. It's one that's
touched me really personally, and I hope others find it just as
beautiful. As it explains- when someone has issues with their mental
health, the whole definitions of words such as 'good' begin to change.
You no longer rate things the same way; to recover, you have to look at
the world differently, in light of your struggles. As I said in the post
about being ill, I'm surprised that my mood's stayed reasonably high-
and that makes it a good day, because I could be worse. There are days
when nothing much happens, when maybe I just revise all day or tidy or
something like that- but that's good, because there were times too when
that didn't happen. It's a different definition of a good day: but it's a
good day.
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on
groceries,
Took the bus home,
Carried both bags with two good
arms back to my studio apartment
And cooked myself dinner.
You
and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I
paid my rent and my credit card bill,
Worked 60 hours between my
two jobs,
Only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
And slept
like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
Locked my door,
And
remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the
kind of pride she brags about at the golf course,
She doesn’t
combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh
yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See,
she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how
to use my muscles,
How I would stay as silent as a thick fog for
weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the
notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a
gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking
faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs,
Depression, is a good lover.
So
attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And
it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the
dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to
stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has
created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
Cleaned every dish I
own,
Fought with the bank,
Took care of paperwork.
You and I
might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for
salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
But I don’t speak for
others anymore,
And I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely
apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burnt down a
house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
And it
was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I
want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
Or envy
the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned
my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him,
“it was a good day.”
As I said at the top, this poem is by
Kait Rokowski- please please go check her out!!
