Christina Bagni
Christina Bagni’s creative work has been published in Divot Lit, Lit202, and Underground Literary Magazine, among others. She is the Chief Editor at Wandering Words Media and a writer on the Captain Bitcoin comic book series. Her first novel is forthcoming with Deep Hearts YA (2023).
Cure My Depression
I was 14
When my boyfriend told me
I cured his depression.
He meant it
Dead serious
Everything, back then,
Was dead serious.
He told me he had depression for eight years
But I made him happy.
And because I was used to finding my self-worth
Through other people’s eyes
This made me happy too.
“You make me smile,” he texted me
And sent a smiley face.
I doodled hearts in the margins
On the backs of my hands.
I had done something good
By just existing.
He loved me
For just existing.
I made him happy
For just existing.
And that kind of unconditional love
Was unfamiliar.
So I clung to it
Like he clung to me.
It was so easy
To make him want to be alive.
​
∘˚˳°âˆ˜ËšË³°
​
I was 15
When my boyfriend said
“If you break up with me
I will kill myself.”
This had also happened to me at 13, with another boy
And would happen to me again at 19,
When I’d run through the snow in pajamas to the dorm across campus
Not worried, but angry
That it had happened to me again.
But this time, the second time.
I was 15, and I wasn’t going to
Get trapped into another few months of dating again
Under the threat of a knife
Pressed to another person’s throat.
So I told the guidance counselor
Who called him down to the office.
She called me down later
And told me that since he was 18
She couldn’t call his parents
Or force him to go to therapy.
She asked him if he wanted help
And he said no.
She told me that was all she could do.
“Thank you,” he texted me later. “For looking out for me
But I’m still going to do it.
I can’t live without you.
I don’t want to live without you.
I need you in my life
Or life isn’t worth living.”
And these were words that once felt utterly romantic,
Phantom of the Opera, Twilight, Jane Eyre, desperation
But now they reached out of my phone
Like his too-sweaty fingers to close around my useless voice.
And I knew
That guidance would do nothing
And the police would do nothing
And if I told his parents he’d do it quicker.
So I did what I had to do.
“Maybe we can try again,” I texted him.
“Maybe we can find some way to make this work.”
“Are you sure?” he replies. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not sure. I can’t take another rejection…another heartbreak. I really can’t.”
“I’m sure.”
No reply.
“I miss you,” I add.
He sends back a smiley face.
And I make him smile
By doing nothing.
I doodle jail bars in the margins
In my forearms
Anything I have to do
To keep him alive.
Validation
i go in soon to a third therapist
to see if ptsd needs to be added to the list.
is it really assault if it wasn’t rape?
is it really abuse if i wasn’t hit?
is it really ptsd if i wasn’t in the military?
am i weakening those words, or widening their definitions?
is my pain valid?
please, somebody, is my pain dark enough to use these labels?
is it really anxiety if i don’t take any medication?
is it really depression if i can get out of bed?
Half the Reason
The more you read the less you write
You sit at blank pages paralyzed
Because everything’s been done before
And you’re absolutely right
Everything’s been done before
But nothing’s been done by you.
I can see the gears turning right behind
The bluest blue eyes you’ll ever see in your life
But you sit and you worry
About character and plot
And will anything you ever do
Ever be enough
And I’m like half the reason that kid Josh Dennon went crazy
And you’ll never guess why.
I’m like half the reason that kid Josh Dennon from high school went crazy
And you’ll never, never, never guess why.
My mom didn’t know how to cook
And my dad didn’t know how to do anything
So I had to learn it all in college
Like an asshole, putting dryer sheets in the washing machine
And they’ve never figured out why I’m a loser
And I’ve never figured out why I care what they think
So I’m begging you to write me a long book
And I’m begging you to mix me a nice strong drink
And I’m like half the reason that girl Mariah got married
And you’ll never guess why.
I’m like half the reason that girl Mariah from high school got married
And you’ll never, never, never guess why.
I’m aging my anger in bottles inside
Like the finest wine your stock market money can buy
Your words and mine intertwine
Like the bars on your bed
Your fingers hard, cold as ice
Like you’re already dead
And I’m like half the reason my ex Rebecca drinks daily
Yeah, and you’ll never guess why
I’m a hundred percent the reason my ex Rebecca from high school fucking hates me
And you’ll never guess why
You’ll never, never, never guess why
You Are
You are the first burst of brilliant forsythia
You are fizzing rice krispies in chocolate milk
You are the first warm day of the year.
You are a soft warm sweater, cream and light brown.
You are warm coffee in a hand-fitting mug
You are a wood nymph.
You are a burst of kiwi and strawberry.
You are an early morning in Helsinki.
You are an overcast, foggy night in deep summer.
You are my favorite, sharpest pencil.
You are a gentle hand on a polished railing.
You are a crisp salad with berries and figs.
You are hiking boots on a Thursday morning.
You are pigtail braids.
You are an interrobang.
You are lemondrops and iced tea.
You are a good stretch while still in bed.
You are my love.