I am Breaking Down (poetry)

By Anonymous

Part I

I am breaking down

Trying to fight the thoughts that tell me I am the most worthless
creature in this world.
Feeling scared, feeling terrified.

I’m in a room filled with people …
beautiful, strong souls in the struggle for immigrant rights and
social justice.
Yet I am alone.

Laughter in the room
Strength, love and commitment in this room
Courage in this room

… and all I can feel, all I can think of is the endless pain I feel
inside.
I am fighting with all the strength I have left to keep my tears from
rolling down.
I am giving all the strength I have left to keep me from running out
of this room
and scream that with every second that goes by it hurts to breathe, it
hurts to be alive …

While others laugh, live, continue the fight for justice … I battle
these thoughts of pain. I fight the loneliness and the demon of
depression.

I fake a smile.

There is an immense guilt inside of me for not being able to be
productive, contribute and organize with the rest of the group.

I have no motivation.
I want to disappear.
I don’t want to feel these terrifying feelings anymore.

More laughter in the room.

I fake another smile.

I wonder how many other undocumented souls are feeling the pain I am
feeling.
I pray that there aren’t many like me stuck in the hell of
depression.

I feel ridiculous.
Not a single positive thought in my head. Not a single positive
feeling in my soul.

I contemplate leaving this meeting early. Somehow when I head home and
wait for the train I stare at the tracks and … I think, what if? Am
I that selfish to leave everything and everyone behind?

This meeting continues. I stay.
More laughter, more joy from everyone in this room.
Except me,
I wish I can laugh too.
I wish I can connect with all these beautiful souls.
But I cannot.
All I can feel is something stuck in my throat – a painful knot that
has not gone away, not even when I cry.
I feel my body trembling because I am losing the last ounce of
strength that is keeping my tears from falling.

I can’t fake another smile.
There’s only a blank stare in my face.

Part II

Dear friend (undocumented and ally),

Don’t give up on me if you approach me and I show no interest.
Don’t dismiss me if I don’t return the smile you gave me.
Please don’t give up on me because I am a step away from giving up
on myself.

Please understand that this is not me.
The real me is strong.
The real me works hard, does not give up and has goals and
aspirations.
The real me is a caring friend.
The real me fights for social justice … every minute of my
existence.
The real me is an organizer, a student, a rebel, a fighter,
undocumented and unafraid!

Please don’t give up on me because I am not me right now.
Don’t push me aside because I am rarely around now.
Don’t think of me as uncaring and lazy because I can’t be
productive and can’t organize.
Don’t forget me if you don’t see me – I am trying to take care
of myself … before this depression makes me do something stupid.

All I want is for this undocumented body to disappear. I have no
control over these thoughts. There are days I cannot fight them.

Smile at me even if I don’t smile back.
Call me if I don’t call you.
Remind me that the fight for social justice and immigrant rights is
the good fight.
Give me strength.
Walk with me and guide me so we can both destroy the depression
tormenting this undocumented soul.

Comments

2 Responses to “I am Breaking Down (poetry)”
  1. Anonymous,

    Thank you for your bravery in sharing your feelings. I know I’ve definitely felt lost and defeated at times.

    I’m sure it’s something that most of us face. Thank you for letting others know that they are not alone in feeling this way and possibly opening up the doors to this discussion.

    Deisy
    Dreamers Adrift

  2. Patty Lopez says:

    Thank you for the great poetry and for the the words of strength you share with others.

    I can relate to your feelings because at times i feel the same way, but keep it up because we have strong souls inside. we are strong and we are not giving up.

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