Depression looks like a lot of things. Me lying in bed covered with dirty laundry and old tissues. Faking a smile while pretending to teach in front of my computer. Crying to my parents over FaceTime. Laughing at sloth texts and Nicolas Cage memes people have been sending me. Petting my pups and holding onto hope. Sometimes you can’t see depression but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. That someone isn’t struggling and could use some kindness. It’s cheesy I know but we all hurt and we can all help each other. Be patient. Listen. Show your love. We are all national treasures #cagequote



To truly understand the disability experience you need to listen to those who live it. We need to make space for authentic stories. We need to make sure these conversations are inclusive. We need to listen, love, and share. This creates language. This builds community. This is where my hope comes from.

If you’re interested in hearing about my life with mental illness please tune in to this episode of To Write Love on Her Arms which discusses what it is like to live with bipolar disorder.

Many thanks to To Write Love on Her Arms for this amazing opportunity!

For more of my work please check out my website



When I’m sad like this we lie in our big bed and he sings me love songs. And sometimes I can sing along, other times all I can do is cry, but he is always there. Always with me. I never have to feel this dark all by myself. He is my lullaby.



Wrapped alone with my jagged fragments

My teeth dripping like raindrops

My eyes clogged with crusty beaches

I stutter and my tongue self-destructs

I look for you and my eye lids implode

I feel my fingerprints committing crimes

My toes growing weeds

My ears straining for thunder

I try

To sing

To cry

To call out

But my voice whimpers and warns others


Steer clear of this broken brain

This fractured body

This empty girl flaking away

I hear you say I love you even though you know I’m dying

I never thought I’d be trapped with my own remains

The reader is looking out the window at an ominous sunset in the dusk covered woods



Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman

Dr. Rachel KallemWhitman

Educator, advocate, and writer who has been shacking up with bipolar disorder since 2000. The “Dr.” is silent. The bad jokes are loud ❤