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
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