Gitme Burdan | Mabel Matiz Antidepresan May 2026

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.

Across from him sat Leyla. She was adjusting her scarf, her eyes already halfway out the door, looking toward a life in a city where the sun actually shone. She was leaving for London in three hours.

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." 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."

"Say something," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the low hum of a radio playing in the kitchen. Selim looked at his hands

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.

"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." But the words felt heavy, drugged by months

The irony wasn’t lost on them. The song was a plea wrapped in a dance, a heartbreak you could move your hips to. It was exactly how Selim felt: a tragic mess disguised as a functioning human being.