Responder

I am a terrible texter

A shitty snap-chatter

A flop on Facebook

And all around awful at any form of virtual communication

I blame it on my depression sometimes

Because sometimes the mere thought of confronting my phone feels like gnawing on nails

Feels like iron anchors on my eye lids

And I don’t have the strength to carry them anymore.

But the truth is I’m also just forgetful

Or distracted

Or suicidal or some combination of the three

And my friend

She is an EMT

With the know-how and skill to handle any situation

A responsible adult in every way

And I can’t help but appreciate the irony of our friendship

How she of all people is a first responder

And I can’t even be bothered to respond

And that’s not to say I wouldn’t be there for her in an emergency

Because I know I would

But it is to say that if that emergency is planning a brunch

Or a trip to the gym

I will be unfortunately unavailable

Because my sidewalk needs dusted

And the stove top needs bleaching

And did I forget to mention I still haven’t started that book I always wanted to write?

And I will message you back in the morning

I promise

When I finish counting all the things I need to do

Long enough that I never finish any of them

When the lullaby of the busy streets put me to sleep

And the moon light whispers softly that it is time to rest

I will text you in the morning

But for now I will think of all the way I might respond that won’t upset you

All the things you might say if I do upset you

And all the times I thought I upset you

And really you were just in a hurry.

And you know I far too often view the text I am afraid to respond to

I far too often see it

And read it

And think of everything I might say to you

But then I forget

Like a stick of Cotton Candy that slipped from your grip and landed in the sea

It is lost

Dissipated with color and sweetness

And even if I don’t respond now

And even if I might have forgotten

It doesn’t mean I don’t care

It doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you on your darkest days

when no one else can be there

And I will text you in the morning

I promise

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741