busy streets and the sweet smell of rain
the harrowing roar of the incoming train
we stare blankly, confused but so aware
we are lost, but we don’t seem to care
everyday, we searched for something more
and hoped that when we turned past each concrete corner
that we’d see something we’d never seen before
something to justify how long we’ve suffered within our lonely selves
something to bring back the light into the hollows of our eyes
something to answer the darkness drowning in our cries
there’s a bridge ahead
it creaks and moans
and we know that when we cross
it will fall apart beneath our feet
but we don’t need to hesitate
we know just where we need to be
our fingers lock
you hold me steady
we take each step in perfect synchrony
and we feel the warmth coursing through us
as the sun rises
banishing the demons of our past
we have found a new horizon at long last.
there is a certain healing in the rain
something in the pitter patter
that would wash away the pain
something in that safe-at-home warmth
that I just can’t explain
listening to a storm raging
just outside of your domain
makes you feel so safe and sound
It’s one of the biggest tags on my blog.
Yet I haven’t talked about it.
I feel like I still don’t want to talk about it.
Depression is probably the one illness I do have. The one thing that keeps me from being the ‘me’ that everyone sees me as. The one thing that keeps me from being happy. I hate it. I hate it with a burning passion and I will continue to hate it for the rest of my life.
It’s scary. It doesn’t overwhelm me day in and day out. No, it’s a lot more sudden than that. It’s a beast that comes out only when it wants to and only when you don’t want it to. It hits you at the worst times. Terrifying.
I cry spontaneously. I just do. I’m overwhelmed by this feeling, this feeling of sadness and loneliness. I could be talking to five or six of my friends and still have that feeling erupt from nowhere. I turn silent. No one notices. They never do. Thank the heavens for that.
It’s not painful. Not physically painful that is. Mentally. Only slightly. For the most part, I can keep it under control. Sometimes it just swells up inside and bursts out without my having a say in it. It becomes uncontrollable if I keep it in check. It becomes stronger than my own will. That thought is terrifying. I don’t like talking about depression. I don’t. It only makes the feeling stronger if I acknowledge its presence.
I don’t think it’s as bad to the point where I need medication. I’m trying to control it so I don’t ever have to take it. I think I’ll be fine. I’ve become more and more comfortable with the feeling over time. It used to be a lot worse. I used to be a lot more estranged due to it. My friends never got why. I don’t think I get why either. I hate being different from “normal”. I hate that there’s such as thing as “normal”.
I think some of my stuffed animals are stained with tears.
I’m still a child and I hate that too.
Depression reverts me into this child-like state. This helpless being. This immature crybaby. I hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
I know I’m more mature than that child.
Yet, why can’t I be that way?