Poetry – Disability Justice and Violence Prevention Resource Hub

The Images of Depression By Ellie Satre

Image Description: The pencil sketch depicts a bloodied hand holding a mirror shard reflecting the skull of the beholder. In my mind, this is what depression looks like. It is something that on the outside you only look hurt – maybe a little bloodied. However, when you look upon yourself, you feel nothing, a void that feels so close to death. My sketch depicts the morbidness and the pain that clinical depression can cause in a person and that it can be anyone.

Just see me

Just See Me
By Ellie Satre

Sometimes I wish I could just die.

It seems so easy…

…the flick of a switch…
…the push of a button…

If only it were as easy as closing your eyes

wishing it to be.

I don’t really understand it—
practically never, if I’m being truthful.

The voices.
So many voices,
myself but not at all.

The weight,
a monster

pulling

down

my spirit.

Not a comforting weight
like a dog on your lap,

but a deadly weight

that drags,

slowing you down,

whispering

you’re not good enough,

you’d be better off dead.

SHUT UP!

That’s what I tell it,
but it doesn’t listen.

“You’re fine. Just sleep it off.”

That’s what others say,
but they don’t understand.

“I’ve been sad before. What’s the difference?”

I try to explain:
I can’t catch my breath,

all these worries

An image of a concrete poem (also known as a shape poem) designed in the silhouette of a bowl.

(Image description: The outline of the vessel is formed by the phrase “Filling my body to the brim” curving along the bottom and sides. The “steam” rising from the top and the entire center of the cup are filled with the word “Worries” repeated many times in various fonts, sizes, and orientations, creating a cluttered and overwhelming visual effect.)

“If this is how you feel
I don’t know how to help you.
Just suck it up, ig.”

Little do you know
you make the tears heavier
and the weight more painful.

I can’t stop it,
but you keep making it worse.

If I don’t know how to explain it,
just be there for me.
Don’t belittle me.
Don’t think of me as less.

“Oh pobrecito.”

I don’t need your pity.
I have monsters, just like you—
they just speak louder
and weigh more.

My feelings are real.
You might not see it on the outside.
I might hide it with a mask,

but it’s cracking
more and more every day.

It’s not always bad,
but it’s still real.

Just see me for who I am.
I beg of you.

About the Author

Image Description: A young woman with short, dark hair and a slight smile poses outdoors. She is wearing a light blue ribbed tank top with thin black straps, a black choker necklace with a silver snake pendant, and a smartwatch. The background shows a shallow, rippling body of water with a sandy bottom.

Artist Bio: My name is Ellie Satre. I’m currently an 18 year old freshman at Indiana University Indianapolis. I’m currently studying Biology and Forensic Science so that I may go to Med School to become a forensic pathologist. While I don’t have a physical disability, I have struggled with anxiety and depression for years. I have struggled with suicidal ideologies and I used to put up with those that wouldn’t help, listen, or understand. Now, I choose to surround myself with those that are willing to listen and those who are willing to understand and help. I believe that everyone deserves respect and for their voices to be heard. Mental disabilities can be greatly overlooked and put off as something that doesn’t matter as much because it’s “all in the head.” The only thing that does it make the voices louder. Everyone deserves a voice. Everyone deserves care. With my whole heart, I believe this.

Sadness vs Numbness

Give me sadness
With its grey skies
My heart ripped into two

Let me sob
Let listen to gut wrenching songs
Let me write dark and dreary poetry
Let me share my woes to all
About the unfairness and hurt
That my senses perceive whenever I breathe

Yes, give me this sadness, that has a clear cause
This sadness that I hate: Give me that: For my own sake

Sadness is natural; a part of human life
Barely on the spectrum
When I compare it to Numbness.

Grey skies vs blackness nothing
Heart in two vs non-feeling beats

An inorganic place called the Abyss
Where Numbness holds myself
Not song, word, or voice allowed
Not even the grace of sadness can present itself

Just me and Numbness
And empty thoughts of blankness
No one in; no one out
Unbearable Disconnection

The world’s simple notion of depression as sad sadness
Gives no justice to the Numbness of the Abyss
So, please, may I have sadness?

Jody has short black hair with her left side shaven. Her glasses are reddish, her sweather is dark purple, her earrings are black, and her grin is huge.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jody Michele Powers

Jody Powers is an independent consultant for the Indiana Coalition Against Domestic Violence, where she serves on the leadership. committee of Indiana Disability Justice and is the Hub Coordinator of the IDJ website. Jody is also a licensed Christian minister, whose faith motivates her to promote the human dignity of all people. Jody has cerebral palsy with visual and speech impairments. She uses a power chair for mobility. She deals with clinical depression and PTSD, unseen disabilities that affect her life as much as her seen disabilities.

Email: jodymichele@outlook.com

Disabled and Proud

When I roll through a door With my son in my lap,

I don’t deserve your praise, so please don’t clap.

The looks of pity and horror Hurt too, you see

Because be it your praise or fear Be it a cheer or a leer,

One thing is always clear,

You’re singling me out for my disability, And living life is no inspiration.

Do my words give you clarity? Clarity not needed by my son.

I live life from a wheelchair That gives full independence. I know you see it or hear it,

And of my chair you’re fully aware So can you just give full acceptance

To me in my chair?

Because I promise my son can see and feel The fear behind your stare.

I’m not so different from you.

I get happy.

I get frustrated.

I get sappy.

I get infantilized.

I get mad.

I feel all the feels Tell me how living on wheels Makes me different from you?

Being a momma on wheels Is nothing strange,

And I promise my son doesn’t wish me to change.

For 29 months I nursed my son On wheels.

I chase my son On wheels.

I discipline my son On wheels.

I cook for my husband and son On wheels.

I change my son On wheels.

I say prayers for and with my son On wheels.

You see the wheels I live on aren’t all-defining Suffocating or confining.

They are a disabled mom’s All access pass

To her toddler’s world,

A world full of peace and calm

And also a world full of giggles and sass.

My name is Megan. I am disabled, I am Lebanese,

I have Cerebral Palsy, I am legally blind,

I am from the U.S.A., I am a wife,

I am a mother, I am a writer,

And of ALL that makes me ME

I am PROUD!

About this poem: I wrote this poem after my husband and I had to have our first conversation with our two-year-old son about ableism. He asked, “Why people so mean ‘cause momma sit? Momma tell them mean.” After our family conversation, I wrote this in response to my son’s question. I hope this little poem helps people to realize that societal ableism is still taught and fostered today. Many people may be unaware that they are fostering ableism, but the hard, sad truth is that they are. My husband was internally ableist for a long period of time not because ableist thoughts were purposefully passed down and placed on his shoulders, but because family unknowingly continue ableism’s terrible legacy.

Meghan Deahl with her husband and son — This is a picture of Megan Deahl, her husband, and son.

Abput the Author:

Hi! My name is Megan Deahl! I am a wife, momma, writer, disability advocate, animal lover, and avid crafter. Do you have questions about ableism? Please feel free to email me at deahldisabilityactivism@gmail.com. We can only eradicate ableism through education.