depressed poetic

emerging from a dark place,
a place of stagnation and decline,
finding again, maybe for the first time,
how to feel happy, how to hope,
how to expect good things from life

then a good thing comes along,
or maybe it's a bad thing,
or maybe it's just an average thing.
maybe it's earth-shakingly remarkable,
maybe it's just ordinary, the way life
      is when you're not in a hole,
or maybe even it really sucks but just
      looks wonderful in comparison with
      what you *have* known.
and this is all a whirlwind,
      massive confusion,
      your feet no longer feel steady.
you feel like a child, confused,
      overwhelmed, lost.
and you realize that your hope and
      your happiness are horribly fragile.

the infrastructure you've built can
      support day-to-day life, the things
      you know and have dealt with, the
      familiar, the routine
throw in something new, especially
      something charged with feeling and
      slippery emotions and lack of clarity
the beginnings of a relationship, that
      notoriously agonizing but thrilling
      piece of life

and the supports start to creak and bend.
and you're falling.
and you're scared that you're heading back
      into the hole, the hell you've just
      fought your way out of

it's too soon
for anything too intense
yet intense is what you crave

so to do what is best for you,
      to step back and shore up
      those supports,
is also to deny yourself.
it's its own sort of hell.