A Poets Depression

When you're little, you grow to love anything you set your sights on and those little pieces of plastic that were manufactured in China become your most prized possessions. You live to protect them because everything is simply a miracle when you are young. You don't understand how these things could be made and you treat them the exact same way that a rich person would keep a hold on their wallets—close to the heart and filling your soul. Then you grow older and because of your new maturity those things that you once loved turns to a mere few.

You become preoccupied with your life and you have no more time for your friends, all you can do is struggle to make a living. This is all inevitable because that’s apart of growing up; leaving your own happiness on the side of the road just so you can work for the rest of your life to achieve what? An old age and a wish for youth again. You could only wish to live another life so live those through joys again and hope for it to never leave your side.

What I want to do is compare that to a young individual when they receive clinical depression because that gap from being able to love everything to very little shortens very dramatically. You find that you didn't have the chance to enjoy the great things in life. The smell of roses no longer becomes appealing and those few things that everyone will soon have to go through will come like a knife in the back. You would find that there would be some things you would like but depression hides it from you. You strive to find the good colours in the world but you are now blind, living in darkness and that is depression. 

Its like you are trying to find what is nearly impossible to see; waving your foot around in the dark while descending down a long staircase, you don't know where the bottom is and when it comes to that you are, you still look for another step to stand on. Striving for hope in a land of chaos, we will wish to change it but we find that failure is what we live and deal with for the rest of our lives. We will remain to believe but till it happens, we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel or even smell the clean bright air. This has become my life. This has become my tune. I will live with it and it will become my nighttime fellow. I will have to search and find my support. I know that there could be things that I would love for the rest of my life but I just need to find them first. 

Remember me