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Depression: A poem for those who suffer ... and those who don't

Recently, by which I mean over the past couple of years, I have struggled with depression ... this has manifested itself as things like hopelessness, lethargy, panic attacks, heightened sensitivity to pretty much everything, not finding joy in anything, insecurity, disgust and other such asshole things.

 

I have taken steps to recover and I'm doing SOOO much better it's a bumpy road and occasionally I get tipped out of the cart! 

 

I'm feeling much better now but in a moment of deep despair that crept up on me the other day, I took shamelessly Emo action and wrote down exactly what came out of my head, it turned out to be a poem ...

 

Some days waking up is

not the gift intended, tis

although there seems to be

a thick goo monster surrounding me

 

He drips down my face

into my eyes, clouding the grace

that I know is there but cannot see

 

It seems to me

that goo monster soaks in

permeating my thoughts, making them grim

 

It does not help to say,

'Just think positive' or 'Hey,

there are others fleeing war and terror'

This does not make me feel any better

 

Logically, I know there is no ground

for feeling so hopeless, so down

but pointing out how lucky we are

just brings shame and guilt and more ...

 

The beast that is this goo

raises his head, sniffing through

slitted nostrils, searching for any reason to begin

a steady stream of whispering

 

'You see?' He breathes

'You should not be

so ungrateful, you obviously

deserve to be so unhappy

you deserve your past

and if the others for whom you care the most depart

it will be because you drove them far

with your malcontent and toxic energy ...

No one likes you anyway'

 

And when the tears start flowing

the beast throws back his head, bellowing

in gleeful laughter

at the despair, the disaster

that his words have wrought

 

'Maybe it's better that you go'

He continues, his voice low

'Everyone is better off

when you aren't there, so drop

your key through the letterbox and leave

no one will cry, no one will grieve'

 

This monster lowers his face

to mine, almost to place

his lips to my forehead in what

could be a kiss

for this

is his kind of protection.

 

He is I and I am him,

he only wants to help, but in

a twisted and deformed kind of love and one

that we cannot to afford to let win.

 

We must choke back the disgust

and take the foul thing to our breast

accepting and meeting his fear

with love that is true and clear

 

Love for the darkness, love for ourselves

love for anyone trying to help

and know that the terror and panic and horror

can only be fought using the sword of the warrior

 

who chooses instead the path of healing and light

not cowering away in fright

or hiding behind drugs and alcohol

for they are of no help at all

 

We must be strong to fight this demon

stronger than any can possibly imagine

we must go on to inspire

and help others in a fashion

 

befitting of a warrior

who has faced many foes

is battle scarred and exhausted

donning ripped clothes

 

We must teach others our ways

of coping with goo monster

on his more active days

helping others to see

that for all his malicious whispering, he

is the one needs love more than any other

we cannot abandon him, for we are his mother

we can only do what a good mother must

allow him to rage and storm, kicking up dust

 

not taking personally his pain

or letting him take charge

don't give him the reigns!

For he will, in his suffering

bring nothing but sorrow

we must fight brothers and sisters

not allow ourselves to be swallowed ...

 

If you have never suffered from this affliction

please don't be too quick to judge or give reason

for we fight daily more that you can ever imagine

carrying goo monster with us

who, although unseen, is heavy and tangible ...

 

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