Depression frustrates the life out of me. Tolerating its hideous and monstrous form, skulking around behind me makes me shudder. I am haunted into silence by its threat. Held hostage by its vice. Bruised and frightened. I wake and feel its blade against my throat and I am terrified to move. I feel if I do not move carefully, picking my way through the day it will smash me in one final giant body blow. It hurts to live this way. Physically hurts. Mentally hurts. It is not living.
How do I live again?
How do I pick up the shards it has left me with and piece them together into a form resembling something good, something pretty, something worth something to someone?
By recognising that I have been here before.
It's a path that already holds my footprints, all I have to do is press my feet into the prints I left myself. I must follow me, follow me, follow me. Endeavour to step quicker this time so that I might leave just one more print. Just keep looking forward. Do not look behind. Do not ask why. Look to the sun. Look to the sky. Just look. Do not hide.
It has no body. It cannot touch me. It is only me that gives it life.
The room above the garage
(Whose smile is temporarily out to lunch.)
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