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Depression in an Empty Room
Facing death among barren walls and dingy carpet
The hush in my soul seemed to silence the world.
All the furniture had been moved out so there was room enough for the weight of my pain. The couch, which had the ugliest pattern was gone, and the table which was really a sewing machine was taking up space in the garage. Everything that had made this room the place that I knew it to be was removed, and so too, did I feel the same in that instance.
I lay on the well-worn carpet. Its threads itching my legs as I continued to sprawl out, like an army of fabric ants moving me about because they knew I hadn’t the strength. I was running from everything and ended up collapsing into myself. A black hole with some freckles. My life was continuing to fall apart and I had nowhere to go.
The depression spiral had been going on for a couple of days by that point, but it hit me like a ton of bricks as I holed up in that room. Its fresh paint made me jealous that it could slap a coat on and somehow be brand new while the walls of my psyche were not so easily renovated. My limbs went limp and I let that darkness consume me.
The poisonous thoughts came thick and fast, one after the other, and I didn’t stop them. I gave up and allowed its inky black waves to begin the process of…