This is my depression. It returned the other day. And it spoke to me.
___
I still shudder. Depression speaks with words of cold steel, the brittle shards fall around me like a thousand razors.
For the most part, my depression has lifted. Today is much, much different than things were last year. I still have days. Of darkness. Those days feel unfeelingly unreal and numb.
What is below. Is raw. And unedited. No, it is not my finest writing, but it is real.
I believe that in giving ourselves a voice, we give ourselves hope.
◊♦◊
Dis-Appointment.
|
Depression speaks with words of cold steel, the brittle shards fall around me like a thousand razors.
|
My Dis-Appointment. An appointment with a hole.
My Dis-Satisfaction. A hole in my soul?
Shrinking into myself. Falling.
Always reaching. Calling.
Unfindingly, I. Feel.
Vaguely familiar with this place. Unreal.
So I buy trinkets. Empty.
I eat and I eat. Still empty.
An appointment with a hole.
A hole in my soul.
Shrinking into myself. Who?
|
Unfindingly, I. Feel. Vaguely familiar with this place. Unreal.
|
Who am I anymore? I spew.
Unthinkingly, I. Feel.
Frightened within this place. I reel.
I run, I numb. I numb.
It returns. Depression.
This time the dragon appears in a burning cloud of Napalm hate. Too early.
I awake and I face the dragon. Weapons hurl, I.
In vain. In vain. In vain. All.
All. In vain. In vain. All.
An appointment with a hole.
A hole in my soul.
Shrinking into myself. Who?
|
I run, I numb. I numb. It returns. Depression. |
Who am I anymore? I spew.
Skin crawls. Mind races.
Jets on full. Soul paces.
Feel like life somehow took a left turn. And I went right.
Confused and confused. Fused and confused. Right?
Feet ever walking, always tripping. Beneath me.
Falling down, I. Cannot. Be. Who. I. See.
Smile is full but empty. I am empty. A facade.
Well put together. Look good. Dust and decay.
The gloom fills the room between my ears.
My eyes are dry, unable to rid my mind of tears.
Gaping hole in my head. Gloom.
Empty hole in my soul. Doorless room.
An appointment with a hole.
A hole in my soul.
Shrinking into myself. I fall.
|
The unscratchable. Itch. The itch is two feet under my skin. The bitch. The bitch that won’t stitch. I kick.
|
Why do I I fight with myself? I call.
Skin crawls. Mind races.
Empty, I walk through my paces.
The unscratchable. Itch.
The itch is two feet under my skin. The bitch.
The bitch that won’t stitch. I kick.
The air with an empty boot. Thick.
And full of empty longings. Racing.
Head bangs. Empty mirror. Facing.
An appointment with a hole.
A hole in my soul.
Shrinking into myself. I.
|
In giving ourselves a voice, we give ourselves hope.
|
I am. Shrinkingly. Unthinkingly. I.
Drink the gloom that fills the room. Inside.
Empty. Ever eating. Never full. I hide.
An appointment with a hole.
A hole in my soul.
◊♦◊
If you enjoyed this piece, you may want to see some of my other work:
Seven Words That Will Change How You View Mental Health
How to Have the Time of Your Life in Recovery
I write articles about wellness, leadership, parenting and personal growth. My hope is to deliver the best content I can to inspire, to inform and to entertain. Sign up for my blog if you want to receive the latest and best of my writing. If you like what I have to say, please share my work with your friends.
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Keep it Real
Photo by darkday
Getting High on Recovery 
That is raw feeling. You are courageous to allow such vulnerability and openness. Thank you,
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I image that putting words like these to times like those calm and redirect your energy to soul work central. Peace Be Still ***
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