Gitme — Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan

"I'm trying to surface," he replied, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, reflecting the flickering streetlights. "But the medicine only makes the water feel warmer. It doesn't help me swim. Sen gidersen, gökyüzü de gider. If you go, the sky goes too."

In his pocket, the foil of a half-empty blister pack crinkled. Antidepresan. He hadn’t taken one today. He wanted to feel the sharp edges of the goodbye, even if it cut.

The rain in Istanbul didn’t just fall; it blurred the edges of the world, much like the static in Selim’s mind. He sat in a corner of a smoky Galata café, the neon sign outside buzzing a frantic rhythm that matched his pulse. Gitme Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan

Selim looked at his hands. He felt like a ghost haunting his own body. He wanted to scream, to tear the floorboards up, to beg. But the words felt heavy, drugged by months of trying to stay numb. "Gitme burdan," he finally said. Don't leave this place. It wasn't a command. It was a collapse.

The radio in the back transitioned to a rhythmic, pulsing beat—Mabel Matiz’s voice drifting through the steam of the espresso machine. “Gitme burdan, sen olmadan ben asla yaşayamam...” "I'm trying to surface," he replied, finally meeting

Leyla reached across the table, her fingers brushing his cold knuckles. "You have to find a reason to stay that isn't me, Selim. You can't turn a person into a pill."

Selim stayed. He listened to the song end and the next one begin. He took the blister pack out, looked at the small white tablet, and then put it back in his pocket. For the first time in months, he didn't want the numbness. He wanted to feel the hole she left behind, because at least that hole was real. It doesn't help me swim

"Selim, we talked about this," she said, her voice trembling. "The sadness here... it’s swallowing you. I can’t stay underwater just to hold your hand."