Running On Empty- A Spoken Word Poem - YouTube

This is a spoken word poem that I developed from a journal entry in March. It is about living with depression while still continuing with what life has asked of me, regardless of how hard it can be. It genuinely felt like I was running on empty.

Eight weeks in,

 and time feels like a contradiction—

both fleeting and infinite–  

a riddle I can’t solve.

I mark the passing weeks, 

not with triumph but with exhaustion, 

each one a step deeper into the fog.

This semester has passed in fragments, 

each day feeling like a loop I cannot escape—

class, work, the library, sleep, 

over and over again

On the nights when I’m not studying or doing things with my ministry 

I’m crawling into bed as early as I can to sleep the night away.

I’ve been doing that a lot more lately– sleeping. 

Sleeping through morning classes,

Falling asleep at work

Waking up exhausted even when I sleep twelve hours at night

My doctor thinks it’s my depression…

I think it’s my life.

It’s the fact that I put so much pressure on myself to succeed

It’s the fact that I can’t open myself up to the people around me

It’s the fact that I’ve been running my entire life on fumes–

hoping to reach the next gas station–those infrequent moments where I’m genuinely okay.

And I have spent the entirety of the past eight years fighting to be okay for more than a week at a time–

Right now it feels like all that fighting was for nothing. 

Eight years is a long time to run, especially when you don’t know where you’re running.

Am I even running to anything?

Am I running away from something? 

A monster? My father.

I’ve been dealing with that a lot this year. 

A lot of thinking about the man I once trusted, 

That caused me to become a shell. 

A shell of myself, 

or rather…

who I used to be.

“It gets better.”

So I’ve heard, but when?

When will I be able to go to my classes happy about my life?

When will I open my eyes gladly in the morning? 

When will I stop having to take these pills to put a smile on my face?

IS there a when?

A win for me would be a solution.

The solution of medication that prevents me from being depressed but doesn’t make me a literal walking zombie 

The solution of a mental foundation of truth instead of lies. 

The solution of what my plans are for my future.

You see, I want to go to Grad school for Creative Writing, but how can I when I can barely string my thoughts into sentences without them unraveling into silence.

How can I when I can barely face the blank page, fearing it mirrors my own emptiness

How can I when doubt stains the pages of my present, making my future an unreadable script?

Maybe it's the place, so I’ll leave. 

Move to New Mexico  or Illinois or maybe even London.

But what if that doesn’t change anything?

The semester is halfway through, and I’m exhausted.

I force myself to wake up, go to class, go to work, just to go back to sleep at night.

And no one seems to notice the change in my demeanor.

“I’m not okay”

I try to say, but instead I hear “I’m fine” slip off my lips like a reflex–

A pre-recorded message I play for the world.

It’s easier that way–

Easier than explaining the storm that rages beneath my skin

Easier than unraveling the mess of thoughts knotted in my head

Easier than describing the weight of sinking in an endless ocean, water pressing against my chest, the surface a blurry, unreachable dream.

It’s hard because when I’m deep in my depression

Most people on the outside can’t tell.

I still write my stories and write my poems, but on the inside 

I’m dying. 

I’m fading, like the ink of my own words—

sentences I once wrote boldly now barely visible, as if time and doubt conspire to erase me

And I cannot get a grasp on anything.

I can’t comprehend why—why the person I see in the mirror feels like a stranger I’ve yet to meet.

I can’t comprehend why–

Why am I the way that I am?