The Devil haunts a depressed man
Wrinkles I have are on the inside. Deep furrows on the barren spirit. Crippled on the inside I walk my life alone. Embraced by the black wind that doesn’t let the light in. It blows fiercely all the time. Screaming.
That’s depression. I cannot move. Sometimes. Most times. Every thought is painful and emotions are on mute. I didn’t lose my reason. I lost everything but the reason. So I can watch my soul being quartered and contemplate on it. Over and over again.
But that self torture is all by myself. Until there comes an uninvited creature. The bodyless anger. The dark vigor. The one who dares to torture the very light that is God’s in me. My dying soul.
I recognize him. He whispers. With a husky voice. With a boldness of a thousand bullies.
Do it. Do it. It is not a sin. There is no hell. Just eternal gratification. Regardless of what you do. You might as well shut down your conscience because it is just your father inside your head. You don’t need a master and a guidance. You are your own master.
He doesn’t stop. He is the loudest when I am the weakest.
Like a fish on dry land selling its soul for a drop of water. That’s me now.
I wrote once in my notepad.
The devil always promises state that is pleasurable. He promises a relief. He promises enjoyment. Tactile gratification. A reward.
He never promises pain. Sorrow. Hardship. Redemption. Painful redemption. That’s God’s job.
Because once you commited a sin, a crime against your conscience the Devil returns and with the same vigor continues this torture by saying your sins will never be pardoned.
And that is on top of your depression. I’ve been through that. Never again, never.
I still pray for a magic pill. Not the blue. Not the red. But the white one. The one that will make my soul clean. I’m not woke. I’m enchanted. With the promise of God that my suffering is my cleansing and my sorrows are the furrows on fields of Heaven where some day my soul will rest.
