This is for the empaths, and those of you suffering depression, anxiety, or any mental anguish; I know how hard it can get and I hope you find light in your dark place.
Am I mad? Of course I’m mad. I’m mad at you for leaving me when I needed you most. In my deepest, darkest hour you left me teetering on the edge of a cliff.
And the downward spiral continues.
There is no light left in this lonely place. No spark to ignite. No rhythm to dance to and no fresh air to breathe. It suffocates me every single day.
I seek an escape, if only for a moment, before I plummet back down as soon as I let go, falling as fast as I rose, and watching the colours of artificial happiness float off into nothingness until I arrive.
It’s scary here, being so vulnerable. To feel the pain, to experience it at its core is the hardest thing to do. I know sitting here holding onto it only makes it worse, but it’s hard to let go. I’ve been here for too long now and it feels like there’s no end. It’s just darkness. But occasionally a flicker of light appears – some hope a friend brings, or a love you feel worthless of, and you push forward.
It’s a foreign and unwanted feeling being loved so much; you’re forced to reach within and press down on the wounds until you scream, just to make sure it’s real. You push away those who think they know the real you, the one who can face the day.
Who is the real me anymore?
I didn’t ask for any of it. I didn’t ask to feel everyone’s pain and suffering and take it as my own.
Compassion overload some say – I care too much.
Compassion fatigue more like it – I don’t care enough.
I don’t care enough about myself to do what it takes to escape the abyss, but I will try.
I will try.
But how do I untangle the relentless surging mess in my mind?
I constantly dwell on tragedy, real or imagined, flooding my mind every moment I pause to breathe. I see suffering, I see the way those in the ivory towers press down on us, using their tools of oppression to hide truth.
They are thieves of hope.
I see all this suffering yet I don’t understand my own.
I can only take so much before I become numb, or worse, give in. It hurts more to do nothing so eventually I’ll rise up and fight despite being battle-weary. I’ll do it alone, if I have to.
This is how I’ll win my own war.
I’ll rise up and face the demons which keep me awake at night and stop me from finding my way out of darkness and towards the edge of madness.
I will win.
It might not be today, or even tomorrow, but I’ll make it.
Because I have seen the light.
I have felt the love.
I am worth it.
And so are you.
Artwork – “Colorful Depression” by lolitpop at deviant art.com