ode to my depression

Thank you for making me doubt myself.

For giving me the taste of being happy and then ripping the rug out from under me.

Making me appreciate the days, where I want to participate in the world,

instead of being second string.

Seeing my nephew run full speed at me like a greyhound,

waiting for me to come over and play, embracing me.

And me, stopping in the moment for sixty seconds wanting a groundhogs day— to experience pure, joy, and not taking it for granted

Giving me the tools I would have never had if it weren’t for group therapy.

When I look at my sisters—

and have the coping skills to handle, the weight

of three grandparents dying in five years,

Instead of running from my grief like a scared child, hiding under the covers waiting,

for the monsters to disappear.

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