Tag: depression

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The Darkness II

It never goes away.

I get up, go to work and come home and the darkness is there, waiting for me to return.

I get up, go to work and come home and the darkness is there, waiting for me to return.

I get up, go to work and come home and the darkness is there, waiting for me to return.

It never goes away.

I get up … the darkness is there.

I go to work … and the darkness is waiting for me outside.

I come home … and the darkness follows me, beats me home every time. Waiting for me again.

Always waiting for me. It never goes away.

I lie in bed and it consumes me. Sleep is the only escape. Deaths sweet embrace that isn’t actually death.

I wake up and the darkness is there. Oily, thick, cloyingly greasy. The shower is an escape. But it’s only temporary. The darkness isn’t there when I get out, but I don’t want to get out. There is something raw and unspoken about just standing there, under the hot water.

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Depression is real and it is on every face you look at, starting with your own.

Like a fishing hook through my leg, pression has made its grasp on me again, and it hasn’t let go all day, never relenting. At first you are like a floating survivor of a boat accident at sea, next minute, you are being pulled down with such force and velocity you are left to wonder if you will drown first, or if your head will explode from the pressure. All the while, your body convulses, but at irreducible times and infrequently.

In pain (who cares)

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Life for me has become a foggy haze. The world has become a smoke-filled room that has impaired all of my faculties. Moving through the mist, I’m just vapor, disturbing nothing as I move through the crowd. Everywhere I look, people are cloaked in a cloud, oblivious to me.

Head hung low, depression wracking my brain, fear in my heart, listless direction of my feet. People only know I exist when I bump into them. That’s a bad integration that you can safely bet on.

No one reaches out blindly into the billowy mass to stop me, no one sees the pain in my eyes when I show only an angry face to try and protect myself. Every chance they get, no matter what I say, I’m only pushed away.

If I did nothing, I would only be trod upon. I want to choose to stand up and be heard, to be counted as a pioneer for change, I speak my mind, passionately, people are scared away by my views and no [positive] change comes of my actions. So now, I speak my mind less, speak less when I do speak and therefor I leave no negative impact on people.

I’m just there, a wolf in sheeps clothing. Desperate to get out, to hunt, to be free, to be me but fear that if I reveal my true self to the other sheep, the keeps of the pen will move quickly to out me down, to protect their precious livestock. In reality, the pen is just a cage, and I’m a rat. No chance of getting out.

What do I do? I’m lost, drowning in my own sorrow for no reason (and not because I can) but because I know no other life. I have this illusion of happiness that I was taught as a child and feel like it’s an impossibly distant achievement always and perpetually out of reach.