Kalli's Room

Falling in the black

Slipping through the cracks

Falling to the depths - can I ever go back?

Dreaming of the way it used to be

Can you hear me?

- Skillet, “Falling Inside the Black”

Depression. Fucking. Sucks.

There, I’ve said it.

Not exactly breaking news, but it needed to be said.

And manic depression? What a roller coaster that is…

Personally, the analogy of a pendulum comes to mind when considering that kind in particular. Feel free to imagine this, if you will. The constant swinging back and forth represents the wild, boisterous, “I’m-on-my-seventh-can-of-Red-Bull-try-and-catch-me” moments of abandon. Those days, while unusual, are quite liberating and enjoyable.

Then you have the times when the pendulum stops dead center and/or circles ever so slight and slow in the middle. Those are the dark, melancholic moments of unexplainable sadness. Those are the times you feel like crying. And you’re not even sure why.

Some days you’re swinging and stopping between both extremes so fast that you’re pretty sure you’re going to throw up. There are also days that alternate between the desire to be numb and the need to feel something, anything… even pain.

There are times where the people you love piss you off just by being themselves and the very thought of anyone saying a word to you makes you want to punch someone in the face. And other times you break down when the one person you want to pour out your heart to the most is nowhere around.

Sometimes the only sound you feel like uttering is one long, ear-splitting, soul-shattering scream.

Sometimes it’s nothing at all.

Sometimes it never…stops…hurting. No matter how much you will it to. And the worst thing someone can say to you is, “Cheer up! Things will get better.” Especially when you can’t remember a time when it was ever that simple. Plus, it’s kinda hard to tell someone to fuck off when it hurts just to breathe.

Whether this is some chemical imbalance, disease, or mental disorder, the one thing that can be said for certain: it’s exhausting.

Wearing a face every time you leave the house - that’s exhausting.

Devoting a smile or encouragement to someone when you’re dying inside to believe it - that’s exhausting.

Wanting to believe that you’re loved when you can’t even recall how to love yourself through the sadness - that’s exhausting.

To the ones who live through this, with or without medication, I commend you.

To the ones who know someone dealing with it, never stop letting them know you love them. It could save a life.

To the ones who still don’t get it? There’s nothing more to say.

It’s after midnight. A mix of rain and snow had taken this little town by surprise within the past few hours. I lay wide awake and somewhat relaxed in my corner of this institution I call my bedroom. Between Facebook, a YouTube playlist, e-mail, and the start of a seven-week creative writing course, there’s not much for activity here in such a quiet place. A thought occurred to me tonight which prompted this email.

I don’t believe I ever told you this, but there is a photo of you that I always tend to gravitate towards whenever I visit the dating site where we first exchanged messages. And I only visit there for two reasons now, one of which is my ongoing pursuit to make friends. Then again, on a site such as that, there aren’t many guys looking for ‘just friends’, are there? Eh, no matter. But I digress…

My primary reason is to see this particular photo and peruse through the profile attached to it. I love this one photo because it conveys a side of you that is so… at ease with your surroundings. There’s a slight smile playing upon your lips as you proudly wear your Falcons hat, and your posture shows you relaxed and enjoying all around you. But it’s your eyes that really grab my attention. It always is. No matter what photo there is, it’s the eyes that draw me in. It’s as I said in a recent conversation: there’s no world-weariness in them, even for all you’ve seen so far and all you have yet to see. I see this photo and, no matter what mood I find myself in, I smile. Because never has a pair of eyes provoked such a strong sense of curiosity, or amazement, or intrigue as yours do. And every time I see them, it makes me wonder what else you’ve seen and how you see the world around you.

Tonight must be one of those nights, because the compulsion was so strong just to say all of this. And something else occurs to me…

I saved every message you sent on that silly dating site and, every once in a while, I go back to that place just to read a few of them at random. Strange, I know. Especially since it’s rare to meet someone whose friendship I value as greatly as yours. But it’s the truth.

And I may wake up in the morning and think, “Oh my goodness, did I just say all of that?” And yet, I’m actually okay with that. Besides, it would have come out anyway, sooner or later. xXx

hypnotic as they fall to earth

miniscule and cool

the drifting ice crystals capture

the mind as well as our eyes

we lie together in bed

window open so slightly

as we are closed off to all the world

nestled under warm blankets

you always described as furry

and i always smiled

as i do even now

while we lie together 

skin to skin

locked deeply within

mutual fascination of nature’s preservation

but never would i have guessed

that the season of death

would bring this resurgence of life

that i feel as your hands drift

light as the snowflakes falling

upon my vulnerable skin

sending chills that induce warmth

throughout my being

as the cool draft circulates 

and instigates this closeness

my eyes still spellbound 

by the waking reverie of winter’s dream

as the quiet daring whispers from your lips

and the (pleasant) distraction of your touch

calls me to this powerful new reality

awaken me as the world sleeps

let us discover what it is to be truly alive 

in this, the season of death

It’s on the tip of my tongue - 
a secret I keep,
as is true of my nature.

Between my lips
the answer sits contentedly
in the knowing smile
playing upon my face
with all the energy
of a loquacious four-year-old.

With bare feet, crossed legs,
a sly padlock’d smirk,
and a mind set on faraway lands,
I dare you to ask me what I’m thinking.


I said you could ask.
I never said I would tell. ;)

I was 18 and working in a nursing home in Chicago. The most difficult thing wasn’t just watching it unfold on TV; it was finding the words to explain it to a wing of confused and scared Alzheimer’s patients. It looked like a trailer for a Hollywood movie…until the second plane crashed. Until people fell from the burning buildings. And until both Towers collapsed. 10 years ago, 3000+ lives were lost. Don’t merely reflect on the tragedy, but treasure the ones you love today and every day. ♥

Creating the perfect picture

Of the woman ideal

With dipped brush to canvas

And sharp pained focus

I create her

And she is beautiful

Eyes bright and alluring

Skin flawless and glowing

Hair long and flowing

With a smile that’s ever knowing

And breasts full and soft

With gravity holding them aloft

Arms toned and strong

To hold and carry you along

Curvaceous in form

Perfect in shape

From head to toe

Not a single flaw exists

Not even for a moment

I created this picture

Of the woman ideal

Wishing for a moment

That she were real

So you could be happy

And small I would feel

So the picture was smashed

Beyond recognition

And in my mind I kneel

And drown in my tears

At the vision you want

That is missing in me