Depression comes around like clockwork

A poem on the ups and downs of the menstrual cycle, as someone who has battled mental health and menstrual cycle issues since she was 13.

Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash

Fourteen days in. The ticking in my head echoes: growing louder, more insistent.
For over half my life I’ve been the victim of this Nebula
Fragments of my former self lost in dust, in time, in space.
I shake my head vigorously, as if it will create a new cosmos inside of me
Pretending It won’t trap me this time. That I’ll escape Its grasp, that maybe It won’t want me.

But then the numbness of Its breath stops me in my tracks.
I am alone, exhausted, entranced.
Life before this moment feels like a hazy dream
A manifestation that is never quite granted to me.
The timeline of my existence becomes a monotonous hum
A ringing in my ear that never leaves, Its tone never changes. The only constant I rely on.

I know Its cause.
Two monsters in my body that are far apart but whisper sweet nothings to each other
In an effort to ruin my life, block my dreams, suck me into the dark molten beneath my feet.

This too shall pass
When the calendar ticks over to day one
And yet again I’ll pretend this never happened.
Won’t admit that something needs sorting
Because life will feel good again. My hormones jump back in line and respond to my orders.
My brain and uterus drift apart like distance friends
Knowing soon, their plot will thicken.

But that means nothing now. Now that I am fine.

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