I’ve never understood depression. I know sadness like the back of my hand. I know fear like yesterday, its memory brushing the edges of my life constantly in dreams..
I was eight years old holding my breath praying to an entity I no longer believe in there in the darkness to keep me safe. I remember the little prayer I made up like I wrote it yesterday
Dear God,
Please don’t let him drink again. Please take all the robbers and murderers away. Don’t let anyone hurt me in my sleep. Please protect me.
I remember being petrified to look out of the window.
I remember being petrified of being locked away again
I remember being petrified of not being locked away
Mostly I remember always being petrified
Or bruised and ashamed
Or petrified
What a horrible existence for a child
Is that depression?
As I outgrew the physical and emotional bruises of the darkness I crafted a life for myself. I realise now the life I crafted was the one I had wanted to be a part of as a little girl. The perfect family,the warm safe dark and violence free home.
This world I made bandaged my past like a holiday in the sun stains white skin into believing life has never been better nor ever could be.
I believed love could save me.. and for a while it did.
I am scarred deeply though, flawed inside and out and no matter what creatures of perfection I have created or how deeply I have outwardly loved.. what I need to heal my insides seems somewhere over the rainbow.
I am face against the glass window and only darkness smiles back.
Is that depression?
Is this because all my plans for perfection are coming apart at the seams, walls falling down around me?
So much of my life is beautiful and yet…
I no longer want what I crafted and dreamed
I want love that exists on the other side of the moon
To run from this darkness that is dragging me under with its gripping insomnia and needle like addiction
Is this depression? Is this where people start to drink or be angry or consider suicide? because i don’t feel any of those things. I simply feel….
I don’t have the poetry
Or the inclination
I don’t have depression I say aloud. i just need to sleep.
Inside and outside darkness
The little girl inside reminds me what nanna said..
As I try and breathe and remember… to follow the star
^!^
Ever witness the silhouette of the moon breaking through clouds? It’s light seems brilliant, yet subtle and sweet, like gleaming silver. Luminescence may be banked, or burning brightly. In either state, it is still beautiful. Hope floats. Follow your star, your brilliance, even in glimpses, is blinding…Hugz, L.
The stars only come out at night, you know. I think the word you’re searching for is –indifferent. Although I suppose apathy is a form of depression. However–A tragedy need not have blood and death; it’s enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the pleasure of tragedy. – Jean Racine