my depression forgives my partner for loving me

We are sitting at the breakfast table one

morning, and you ask me if I want 

sausage or bacon. I tell you that I desire 

forgiveness from my parents for all the 

bottled up anger I’ve hoarded inside. I try 

to put it down, but my anxiety means my 

hands need something to hold onto. 

Trauma can be a good stress ball if you let it. 

 

You laugh as I fill up my mug with coffee 

for the third time, and I meet your 

lightheartedness with explanations of 

low dopamine levels and how I was born

with a hole in my heart. I think even after 

complete remission, I am still trying to fill it. 

 

You kiss my forehead as you go to work,

and I tell you about the shame that rests 

on my shoulders because I believe I am 

inherently not worthy of love, but more 

specifically, I am not worthy of your love. 

I am a weak person who fails to be

independent and yet you love me the way

you do. What did I ever do to deserve that?

 

You check on me throughout the day, 

telling me jokes and fun stories, and I tell 

you of the wars I fought in the bedsheets 

and the enemies that rest under my pillow. 

I tell you that I am afraid of the monsters 

that are closing in, and that I hope you 

know I love you, just in case I don’t make it 

out alive. 

 

You come home with my favorite Chinese 

take out, and I tell you that some days I 

don’t eat because my body fails to tell me 

the most simplest of things. Is this feeling 

inside me hunger or is it my heart clawing 

it’s way up my throat and onto a plate? 

You eat my organ for dinner and I ask how 

it was. You say that my love was the best 

thing you’ve ever tasted. 

 

You lead me to bed, helping me change 

out of what I slept in the night before, into 

what I will sleep in tonight. I apologize for 

being useless and having done nothing, 

but you quiet me. You tell me that I have 

loved you today, and I loved you 

yesterday, and I will love you tomorrow, 

and that is enough. 

 

You hold me close to your chest as I am on 

the edge of sleep. I am too tired to tell you

anything else at this point, my mouth is

dry and honesty is lodged in my throat. I 

can feel your heartbeat match my broken

one. How do I say that we have the same 

flaws, yet I hate mine and love yours? How 

do I say that in kissing all of your scars, I 

have let my own wounds finally heal?

 

How do I say that in adoring you, I have 

forgiven myself?