Depression In Plain Sight

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Managing depression, alone, even though surrounded by people. Like watching a grizzly accident unfold in slow motion; family and acquaintances watch, but dare not intervene. This leaves the depressive to manage depression alone.

Work in progress

Submitted: October 28, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 28, 2016



He is there again.  Sitting in his chair.  Writing, and re-writing.  Trying to distract his mind from the painful turmoil.  Hearing the words bounce around his skull.  Reading old notes taken from classes to help manage depression.  Watching others pour their tears of failures and successes onto his screen.

He is there again, rocking himself in his chair.  The clock ticks as the keyboard clicks.  The one sound he does not want to hear is his heart beat.  He believes if he writes enough, the ticking clock will drown out his mental murmurs.  The keyboard clicking will distract him long enough until life forces itself into his view.  

An easy place to hide something important is in plain view.  He interacts with his family and friends.  He wears his mask as his identity, while the depression warms his soul.  He removed his mask, but to his regret his truths fell to the ground and rolled into the gutter.  No one reached out to keep help him up from falling.  No one took notice of his sad truths and offered to help collect them.  They just watched him slowing collect them like shards of broken glass.  

Many nights he would be on his hands and knees, exposed to the emotional elements.  His spouse's emotions and words, like freezing wind and rain, lash out at his exposed flesh and soul.  Hands sliced from collecting his broken truths.  Blood streaming from his cut hands, pooling in puddles mixing with the freezing rain.  

He sobs to himself, "Just hold on.  Hold on until the dagger feeling in the chest goes away.  Maybe when I wake up tomorrow I will be better."

He hangs on for dear life not for himself, but for his children.  Unaware of the chaos he fights alone every moment.  He is caught between ending and perpetuating pain.  He wants his pain to end, but not at the cost of transferring pain to his children.  

So, instead of ending his pain, he sits in his chair.  Listening to ticking clock while he writes about his anguish.

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