#Sabrina Benaim

[apoemaday]

Explaining My Depression to My Mother: a Conversation

by Sabrina Benaim

Mom, my depression is a shapeshifter. One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear, The next, it’s the bear. On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone. I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.” Mom says, “Try lighting candles.” When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame, Sparks of a memory younger than noon. I am standing beside her open casket. It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die. Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark. Perhaps, that’s part of the problem. Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.” I can’t. Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head. Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?” Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party. Mom, I am the party. Only I am a party I don’t want to be at. Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?” Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go. I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go. It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom. You see, Mom, each night insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light. Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company. Mom says, “Try counting sheep.” But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake; So I go for walks; but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists. They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness I cannot baptize myself in. Mom says, “Happy is a decision.” But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg. My happy is a high fever that will break. Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying. No. I am afraid of living. Mom, I am lonely. I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely — The lonely into busy; So when I tell you, “I’ve been super busy lately,” I mean I’ve been falling asleep watching SportsCenter on the couch To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed. But my depression always drags me back to my bed Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city, My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves. The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat, But I am a careless tourist here. I will never truly know everywhere I have been. Mom still doesn’t understand. Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?

[shadesofblue7]

Benaim, Sabrina. "(i)." Depression & Other Magic Tricks.

[haleyincarnate]

From the poem “Aortic Aneurysm” by Sabrina Benaim, I Love You, Call Me Back: Poems

[the-final-sentence]

You should hear me laugh— I sound just like the baby, like I've just discovered delight.

Sabrina Benaim, from "The Suburbs"

[imaginemirage]

What I mean is his name is still a plate set on the table of my tongue, because I learn love like "wait for it".

Sabrina Benaim

[poiregourmande]

the first time he told me he loved me,

i told him i was so happy i could die.

& he said

go ahead.

& i will breathe life into you, little ghost.

— I Love You, Call Me Back – Sabrina Benaim

[artofkhaos404]

Now that I've looped You Are Who You Hang Out With a couple times, I have realized that I very much neglected "Batman." Using a superhero hiding his identity to illustrate what it's like to feel as an infection to those you love, especially your friends, is a brilliant analogy I'm sure many of us can relate to. Brian's ability to turn unrelated concepts and pictures and characters into a symphony of meaning is inspiring to me. It always has me asking "what do all these things have in common?" and looping the songs until it finally hits me. This has become one of my favorite tracks on the Front Bottoms discography very quickly.

Back to the meaning of the song... I'm an extrovert, and my depression has begun to take my enjoyment of social interaction from me. It's a dark place when the thing that gives you energy and has made you feel alive all these years becomes an anxiety ridden task and people don't talk about it enough. It's hardest when you love your friends and you want to see them, but the voices try to convince you that they don't love you. They'll try to convince you that you're a poison to them. That they have forgotten you. That they didn't want you here to begin with, you were invited out of pity, and you should leave. Permanently.

If you feel this way, know you're not alone, and don't feel guilt for it. These feelings don't mean you hate your friends. They don't mean you need to isolate yourself to the point of dying of loneliness and live with your battery on empty. All it means is you are struggling. Things are hard for you... and you should surround yourself with people who will be understanding of that and help you fight it. People who reassure you that they love you. People who tell you how they feel about you often and in detail.

"Sure, I make plans. I make plans because I should want to go. I make plans because sometime I would have wanted to go, it's just not much fun having fun when you don't want to have fun, mom."

-Sabrina Benaim

(Explaining My Depression to My Mother)

[pityroad]

Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying.

No.

I am afraid of living.

Mom, I am lonely.

— Explaining My Depression to My Mother: a Conversation, Sabrina Benaim (via)

[sharedinsanitea]

“Once, there was a lump

in my throat, I like to believe

it was a metaphor for

every feeling I have

ever swallowed.”

- Sabrina Benaim

[surrealsubversivo]

Me sinto triste porque ninguém está apaixonado por mim. Ninguém está apaixonado por mim, mas todo mundo me ama. Todo mundo me ama porque eu sou bom em fazer as pessoas se sentirem bem. Eu sou bom em fazer as pessoas se sentirem bem, porque eu tenho muita prática comigo mesmo. Pratiquei comigo mesmo porque me sinto muito triste. Eu me sinto muito triste, mas quando faço as pessoas se sentirem bem, me sinto bem um pouco. Me sinto bem um pouco e depois fico só. Eu fico sozinha e me sinto desconfortável na minha solidão. Na minha solidão no supermercado, eu pratico tentando me sentir bem fingindo que sou uma pessoa normal, comprando mantimentos, não uma pessoa muito triste tentando não chorar. Chorar me dá dor de cabeça. Dores de cabeça me dão vontade de ir para a cama, e rastejar para a cama é o que pessoas tristes fazem. O que as pessoas tristes fazem quando estão sozinhas se parece muito comigo no supermercado. Na minha solidão na mercearia, me sinto triste, mas me pareço com todo mundo, enquanto escolho abacates e limões. Itens que ninguém se refere como "comida caseira". Alimentos reconfortantes me dão vontade de ir para a cama. Rastejar para a cama me lembra duas coisas: Estou triste e estou sozinho. Estou sozinho no supermercado, andando devagar no corredor de condimentos. Todo mundo sabe que no corredor de condimentos é perfeitamente aceitável ficar parado por muito tempo. Fique parado por muito tempo e vou começar a sapatear. 'Sapateado solitário no supermercado' é um nome fantástico para um livro. Eu penso comigo mesmo enquanto espero na fila para chegar ao caixa. A caixa pareceu surpresa quando perguntei a ela como está sua noite. A noite dela está indo 'bem', ela diz. Ela não diz mais nada, exceto dinheiro, crédito ou débito. Ela acena um adeus. Adeus é a palavra mais triste que conheço. A palavra mais triste que você conhece é meu nome. Meu nome anda pela mercearia e fica menos triste. Menos triste porque no supermercado pelo menos ninguém sabe que não há ninguém apaixonado por mim.

[plantsnpaperbacks]

[soliel-et-lune]

‘How to fold a memory’ by Sabrina Benaim

[shadesofblue7]

Benaim, Sabrina. "the loneliest sweet potato." Depression & Other Magic Tricks.

[abucketoflittledreams]

[bye-bye-bye-someone-in-the-sky]

I am a party

Inside of my head

[imaginemirage]

My body is a garden rooted in gratitude. "Thank you" is the biggest poem I've got inside me.

Sabrina Benaim