I have had Depression since several years. I have been soul crushingly numb; and I have forced myself to be so just so I may go on with the business of daily living.
But of late, since the past year and a half to be precise, my pain has become so severe and so stinging, that it reminds me of its existence every waking moment, and wakes me up when I sleep.
When it refused to shut up and lay quiet in a corner of my room- like I do,I tried to run away from it.
It would stand there in the corner of my dawn lit room every morning, a rabid dog — saliva dripping from its mouth, snarling and raring to get a bite in, staring at me with those mad dog eyes — waiting for the chain to snap, waiting to lunge at my neck, and then KILL ME.
The dog would come to live inside me, and make me its slave.
He would not go away, and make me behave in a slumbrous, erratic, dead person way that I never had otherwise.
My spine would bow down, my head bent and servile, my eyes flitting, worried that surely, people could see ?
Surely they knew I am a slave to my feelings, that pack of dogs that lives inside me and continuously fights for pieces of me. Baying and moaning when they managed to get a sliver of my being within their sharp toothed big tongued mouths, chewing my being well — till it was nothing but liquid mush, ready to be digested and absorbed, and nourish my soul chewing demons.
A part of me lost forever to the dog that was making me disappear BIT BY BIT. Painfully, slowly.
I feel like a moth eaten rug. Patches and holes everywhere in the person I once was. Hole-y and damaged. And no target for this anger, no vent, no outlet, no release. The perpetrator unseen, un-killed and alive.
The pain is so acute, persistent, rampant and raging — it drums its way into my head all the time; it paralyzes me mid-run, mid-sentence, mid-wearing my shoe.
It pulls me into suffocating, deadening quick sand till I have sand stuffed inside each of me sensory, gastrointestinal, sexual and urinary orifices.
So I can only gasp. Not breathe.
Only a series of attempts to break free, break through the surface of the water to the fresh air above.
I can see the water refracted light and the beautiful blue sky with the cottony clouds; the watery waves bobbing and distorting the reality for my salt water eyes.
But I can not break free and see it for real, untethered.
This dead weight holds me down.
Eventually I give up and let this dead iron weight pull me down into the depths of this ocean of nothingness and hopelessness and pain.
I sink, it swims — scum on the surface.
Multiplying; this light obliterating weed.
Blocked, congested, insipid and black.
This is what the world is to me. And has been- since so many years past.