When Depression is the Catalyst for Faithlessness [cue “Losing My Religion” in the background]

by Chelsea Dingman

I confess: hurt isn’t even the word

for that dark room

or what I saw there. The door

opened. I swung & swung.

My hand broke. You cried. I wanted

to take back our whole lives & throw them

at the wild sky. August in a hurricane

state. You begged. You begged me

to swing, & I swung. I swung. The wrong hand

left able. I’ve never loved someone

so much. I wanted to lie

down in our bed. Let you strip me

until I apologized. I wanted to spit

in your eyes, drive away the dark

night. I heard the cicadas. Their cries

rose in my throat. I heard myself refuse to lie

down when my mind said the ground was

an assault I would survive. Tell me you understand

sorry means this ache won’t subside. Tell me

the body you wanted was mine. The exits

you escaped through each night. Blue,

the miscarriages in me. You cried

when I emptied of everyone

except myself. The back of my fists, blue,

how many nights I’ve wanted to break

the will in you. Even now, gutless,

the humid air crawls out of a cast

on my hand. There are only so many ways

to give up on everything you have.

The simplest way is to leave. This time,

you picked the wrong body in which to kneel & say please.