My Depression

My depression is a winding stair case.

It goes up into the light where it ceases to exist, but it also goes down.

Down, down, down, down.

Down into the darkness, down into despair, down into sadness, down to death by my own hands.

Past trauma has shoved me from the top of the staircase and sent me tumbling down the hard cold steps. For a long time, I thought not of the trauma or depression, so on the staircase I lay.

I thought I was living my life, happy, without a care. I pitied those with troubles, and counted myself lucky. I was lucky, until the day I awoke and found myself on the staircase.

It was all an illusion, a dream. But now the fantasy was shattered and everything was exposed for what it was.

I stand in the middle of the staircase. Above me, salvation, and true happiness. Below, turmoil and never ending torture.

Frightened by the dark, I run upwards towards the light, towards the future, and away from the dark, away from the past.

Just as the light begins to brighten and I think that the nightmare is over, a big, black monster rears in front of me.

It roars and shows its horrible teeth and claws. It has no shape yet it has form, it is nothing to fear yet it is everything from my worst nightmares.

I scream and run back down the stairs in terror. I've reached the middle again, no better yet no worse. The demon blocks my path to the light.

I look down to the black below. Something in it calls and beckons. Surely nothing in that abyss could be worse than the creature. Perhaps it is better there; perhaps there is an unblocked escape.

I take a step, and another, and another, and another. I now stand at the edge of the blackness. Tendrils of it reach out and caress me, inviting me inside.

I take two steps in and stop. The darkness begins to envelop me. Sadness fills me. Tears run down my cheeks and splash onto my shirt. The choking feeling of the tears hurts but yet it is comforting. It feels good to cry. I turn and I can still see the light at the top of the stairs. But it is so far away.

Why bother to try and reach it? The monster will still be there. If I try to pass, it will tear me to shreds. Besides, no one is waiting for me, no one minds my disappearance. I should stay here in the dark. Life has no meaning here, no one to please, nothing to worry about. Nothing matters.

I go to step into the darkness when I hear a voice. I turn back to look at the light and a figure is in silhouetted by it. But I know who it is all the same. My love, the only who brings any sort of real joy to my stunted soul.

He calls to me, holding out his hand. His voice is warm, rich, and smooth, more comforting than the cold darkness. I go to run to him but I am stopped by the blackness. It has wrapped itself around me and means to pull me into its depths. Just as I think my struggles are in vain, my love's voice gives me strength and I break free.

I run as fast as I can towards the light, towards my love. He is reaching for me as I reach for him. Our fingertips are with inches of touching but they never do. It comes between us with a snarling roar. I can still hear his voice though, and I can see him behind the monster. I look the thing in the face, ready to do battle and reach the light and my love but what I see nearly stops my heart.

What was an unidentified mass now had a form, a face. It was HIM. The man who wronged me, the man who stole my innocence, the mad who haunted my dreams. I shrunk back, my expression one of pure terror. My love still calls to me but even its sweet sound does not give me the courage to face this demon of my subconscious mind.

My gaze locked with HIS and it all came rushing back. Every excruciating detail that my mind had gone through such lengths to bury burst forth like a reanimated corpse. It ate away at my sanity, my will, my resolve. Soon not even my love's voice could reach me. It was drowned out by my screeches of horror and agony. I turned and ran from HIM still screeching like a banshee of misery and suffering.

I ran back into the darkness. Deep into the black I ran, letting it pull me forward. The sadness, the guilt, the feeling of hopelessness and worthlessness. Death. Death would be my only release, the only way to stop the torture. I missed a step and fell. I seemed to fall forever. My fall stopped as my skull hit the ground with a loud crack and squish sound.

It was over. I didn't feel anything anymore. The pain was gone. The torture was gone. The trauma was gone. But most importantly, my depression was gone.