Depression is often a taboo subject, where understanding is very thin on the ground. It is an illness; not a weakness. Many of those suffering; do so alone.
Even in brightness I cannot see
clouds of dark fog blankets my mind
accompanied by abstruse thoughts
only an opaque expression, motionless
an invisible shield that reflects radiance.
I sink deeper my mind controls me
functioning, without having to think
a living death; without day or night
will it possible to climb into the light
to gain momentum, touch the air.
I bathe in a concoction of chemicals
allowing my mind to drift on memories
the contentment vaporising the gloom
a falseness of the induced state
bringing respite but never peace.
Slowly my mind regains breath
consciousness flows into veins
tossing aside drugged driftwood
supported by nothing but my will
I touch daylight as it touches me.
The best circumstance, so peaceful
disrupted by overcast nervousness
fretting for what paths may lay ahead
unable to evade the bleeding thoughts
scarred, patched up: never repaired.
Savour the strength of translucent spirit
the wind may change; yes, there is hope.