Depression by Dan-Vy Nguyen

Depression by Dan-Vy Nguyen

For eight years,

I would not say the name.

I could not say the name.

I said sadness, I said mood.

This was not happening to me.

If I didn't say it, it wasn't true.

I said tiredness, I said sleepiness.

It was true, It just wasn't the whole truth.

I said pain, I said anger.

No one could know.

I had to hide it

From my parents,

From my friends.

I didn't say anything.

I showed them a smile,

I showed them happiness,

I showed them laughter,

I showed them everything but.

I hid it all.

I said nothing at all.

I would not.

I could not.

_______________________________________

Multiple Sclerosis by Cynthia Huntington

For ten years I would not say the name.

I said: episode. Said: setback, incident,

exacerbation—anything but be specific

in the way this is specific, not a theory

or description, but a diagnosis.

I said: muscle, weakness, numbness, fatigue.

I said vertigo, neuritis, lesion, spasm.

Remission. Progression. Recurrence. Deficit.

But the name, the ugly sound of it, I refused.

There are two words. The last one means: scarring.

It means what grows hard, and cannot be repaired.

The first one means: repeating, or myriad,

consisting of many parts, increasing in number,

happening over and over, without end.