What is depression?
I am my depression. It is
Me.
And my depression is the world.
We are one. It is where the
Reality of my mind and heart touch the
World. And the world touches back.
It’s hands pressed up against the window
Matching mine. And the truth is
Somewhere in that space between our
Fingers.
It the point where the world and
My mind become one and see and
Feel one another as we are.
A world full of memories and barks of joy
And tearing screams boiling in an incohenrent
Riot among one another. Where we
Live desperate to continue for one
Moment more, to have one more thing
To hold us up and fill us up,to drive us
On.
Faster and faster till we fly off that road
Or roll down to a ticking stop in the gravel
And dust, as we burn off the last fumes
That kept us going and, knocking, fall silent.
The world of days and wind rising again
And again and again, leaving us further
And further behind from the selves we knew,
The people, the places, the bright moments
Sitting in the kitchen in the fall afternoon,
With those low, fiery white rays splitting into
Rainbows across a table of old wood and
Chocolate Chip cookies and jam.
Depression is the moment your forget those
Moments, when you see how your hand
Pressed against that window can never
Touch.
And you see it all blowing away
In the storm of sand and waves eroding
That world on the other side. Depression
Is when the effort to try finally ceases.
And you are one with the world and its
Forces. That grind that crystal moment down
Into forgotten dust and wipe it away
Into the sea and sky. It’s when you can’t
Speak.
When speaking loses its meaning. Because
The endlessly throbbing sky and sun are
Deaf and dumb. And the work of trying to
Talk the waves into stopping gets
Exhausting. And your voice gets tired
And hoarse from not speaking and finally
You just don’t bother. And you wish you
Could be someone else so someone else
Would say what you want say
Because you couldn’t survive it.
So the wind and the waves come live
Inside.
I am the world. The world is my depression.
And my depression is me.
Ans the only thing you wonder anymore
Is how much longer you can keep it up.
This pretense of playing along with a world
That has already ended, is always ending
Is forever ending and forgetting and
Scraping away, even before it
Began.
That tears the tears from your heart for the
Future you’ve given to others, the game
You’ve pretended to play to string
Others along so they can wait just a few
More moments before they have to see that
Window for themselves, place their hand on its
Cold, hard surface
And touch the pale hand that reaches to meet
Theirs.
To what end, to what profit such thoughts?
None. It is only a thought that ends
Thought, that ends noise, that ends argument
And demand and reproach and desire and
Disappointment. It washes them away.
It erodes them into nothing. Into
Unthinking. Unfeeling. Into what the world
Is that caused my cuts, my scrapes,
My burns from blind beating on the shores
Of endless sun and waves and wind
I surrender
I become it, and it becomes me.
And we are
One.
Mr Nobody's Patented Blog 