I’ll admit it. Depression must be settling in. The sadness has quietly crept into my clothing and then into my bones, until I’ve become used to his company. I snipe at little things, take offense, wallow with despair, I want to reject this feeling, but I am too languid, I need some form of interjection. But my mouth, my tongue seems far too fat and lazy to conjure itself into the words, Leave me alone; I don’t want your company, because his is the only partnership I can envisage that’s making me feel so utterly lonely even when surrounded by those who care for and love me. He’s like that tight, oppressive, unwelcome sweater that you try on from years earlier, to see whether the style still fits, still suits you, and you realise that his sizing is just not right for you. And you can’t throw him off, emotional you become, engulfed in the face by years-old musty scent, from the attic my depression now becomes, he suffocates, I panic, I try to escape. It seems too hard though, to throw this sinister, insipid being off. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
Depression is a beast. It can be a nasty spiteful turn of nastiness caused by even slightest sleight against ones name. In some instances a violent streak cammbe attached to it, and where hurt feelings caused by insensitivity to a sensitive soul, bring out the highly heightened emotional aggression dubbed as psychosis. Where possible, anyone facing higher, more power emotional content in sorrow and anger are best to seek medical attention. It can be tragic when someone suicides, or beats their partner, or plans mass attacks against the public, or take razors to themselves and self harm. It is also the birth place of some horrendous adduction globally. Anything for an endorphin as some have no idea how to counsel their feelings. Some unfortunately believe themselves undeservant. Thus kill themselves.
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Depression is a beast, as you say. Sometimes he/it/she lingers quietly, only rearing her/his/its ugly face when one is alone, away from the eyes of the world, who could otherwise be able to view the degeneration of the self and be alerted to the need for that person to gain help.
Too often, people suffer in silence and it’s devastating to the person who just doesn’t know how or when or if they can lift themselves out of the pain and suffering they are experiencing day in and day out. They say mental illness needs to be talked about but how can it be discussed if the sufferer is unable or unwilling to articulate their pain? For many reasons this might be the case, and thus this is why I feel it is important to talk about my experiences, my journey, with my mental health. So others can feel less alone. To realise they are not the only ones. To open the channels of understanding and acceptance.
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A good notion to carry on with. Open expression leads to further awareness.
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I do empathise with you. While bipolar as well I don’t suffer from the cycles of depression but can relate to the extreme ‘downs’ you would be feeling……
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Thanks for your understanding. It does mean a lot, Don.
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