memo: to everyone who knew me

Posted on March 13, 2015 by

Memo: to everyone who knew me when

don’t expect me to be depressed.

He’s not welcome anymore.

 

When you expect depression, I spend a lot of energy fighting gravity.

I’d rather use that energy to keep

re-terraforming my brain,

which is much more rewarding.

 

I know it’s hard.  You have expected depression for so long that expecting is as ingrained as the depression itself.  

You used to come over all the time and find him

with his dirty boots on my coffee table

which he had covered in Dunkin Donuts cups and

old newspapers.

 

I asked him to leave.

 

I know you’ll slip up.

 

I slip up.

 

But I’m changing.  I’ve changed.

 

So if you think you know me,

stop.

He tried to stay, said he was close to all my friends,

that they wouldn’t like me if not for him.

I handed him his bag and his wallet.

 

I am still loving, still kind, still

into every handcraft on the planet

still obsessed with Natalie MacMaster

still tactile, still kinethetic,

still increasingly seduced by water.

 

I am still opinionated, too,

still fiery, still intense, still a total wiseass,

still an athlete, still fierce, still proud…

but that might be news to you.

 

He was kind of jealous, wanted

me to stay indoors and 

weep into my pillow.

He told me I had nothing to offer.

He told me a lot of things.

 

I got out the duct tape.

 

I’m planning to surprise you,

me,

everyone.

 

With who I really am.

 

The depression covered me up.

I’m stepping out, now.

 

Every day is a revelation.

He stopped talking.

And I would love to have you come with me.

He was only quiet for a minute.

But first, stop expecting depression.

I opened the door.

Expect, instead,

laughter,

joy,

intense interest,

a desire to learn to surf.

I called my old friends.  They were glad to hear

that we weren’t hanging out much anymore.

They wanted to have dinner.

Expect, instead,

bursting into song,

easy touches,

hard kisses,

dance.

They suggested I learn to sing, swing, speak Portuguese.

They suggested I change the locks.

Expect, instead,

impatience at being expected to hold still.

I took his key.

Expect, instead,

the spark of life.

I watched him pull away, still talking.

Expect, instead,

anything

and everything.

 

But don’t expect depression.

He isn’t welcome here anymore.