There are depths the human soul can reach that, even though you’re screaming for help, you’re so far down, no one can hear you.
It feels as though darkness envelops me when I go through depressed episodes, unlike the light that spreads out from me. Darkness implodes until my insides feel as if they have collapsed, given up, left a cartoon cloud over my body with the word “Poof!” inside of it.
Albus Dumbledore said, “Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” I only wish it were that easy. There are times when depression engulfs me not like fire, but like ice, slowly numbing my senses until I realize, when trying to move, that I can’t.
Feelings overwhelm me to a state of paralysis, and so, I do not move, I do not act, and I do not even like to speak. Although I might encounter some of my best binges of writing during these times, it is a benefit I could easily discard.
The darkness comes, stays a while like an old friend, outwears its welcome, and yet, I can’t kick it out. I must wait darkness out, almost as if we are in a western duel, back to back, then walking in opposite directions while counting off our paces, holding our guns at the ready.
I may win the duel every time, eventually, but every time darkness visits, I wonder if this time will be the time it wins.