Friday, February 13, 2015

An Entitled Destroyer

I always know when it's coming. 
It's sudden, but I'm accustomed
to it's routine. 
It starts inward, progresses outward. 
First, it's a deep hallow feeling 
in my stomach. 

If you or I could see inside, 
we'd see a pocket of dark mass, 
resting-- remorsefully, 
as if he was entitled 
to take up that space. 

I get a chill. 
It starts in my finger tips,
slowly moves to my limbs, 
soon covering every piece of my flesh.  
My vision becomes blurred,
by a thick and fictitiously 
tantilizing fog. 

The fog invites thoughts, 
each painted grey. 
They too feel entitled,
taking up what was once mind. 
They shove and push 
and fill, remorsefully. 
But soon they see,
fog is their foe.

She takes, never gives. 
She further covers, then fills,
pushing out the thoughts 
she once welcomed. 
When it's clear, 
she carelessly creates
a numbing atmosphere. 
Free of fear, yes,
but joy too.

Everything slows,
then speeds--
a pattern of chaos.
Faces and voices,
I knew as gentle,
distort and boom.

So, I sit and cry out,
"I always know when it's coming,
why can't I know when it will leave?"  

My intentions: 

I wrote this poem for me, but mostly for you. You, who may relate to my words. You, who may not. 

To those who experience depression: I wrote this to let you know you aren't alone. Know, there is hope. 

To those who have never experienced depression: I wrote this hoping you will gain a new perspective. Know, sometimes all that friend needs is you to sit with them in the silence. 

What I have learned is that Christ yearns for us to cry out to Him in our confusion and despair. What I've learned is that it's okay to ask Him "Why?"

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