Five Years

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A piece about the struggle with depression.

Submitted: December 30, 2011

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Submitted: December 30, 2011




Five years

Slipping under
Falling deeper
So deep I couldn’t see the surface
So deep I didn’t realize I was sinking

It’s comfortable down there
Peaceful, if you could call it that
Nothing to feel
Nothing to live for or dream about
Simple existence in the ever-growing abyss

Just go to sleep
Wake up 
Keep to yourself
Don’t bother them
Stay hidden
They can’t hurt you if you’re hidden

But it’s hard to hide forever;
They’ll come looking for you
Can they see me all the way down here?
I can’t see them 
I don’t want to see them
It was them who pushed me in the first place

Maybe at first
But peace is a fleeting thing
I was numb, empty, dead inside
For five years

Emotion is easy to take for granted
But then again, it’s hard to miss when you can’t feel anything

The thing about sinking is that your rate accelerates with time
So maybe at first you only slipped a foot or two a month
But by the end you are slipping miles deeper between breaths
Not able to tell this blackness from the blackness that was present before it

Comfort slips away after some time in the abyss
Deadness is peppered with fits of rage
Fits of sorrow
And occasionally a glimmer of joy
A flash of a memory of the surface
Where the sun shines and the wind moves the trees

A spark above
Is it really there?
Is it my imagination?
Is it just my mind turning all this black into something else?
It’s just a trick.

And for a while, that’s what you believe
But how long can one trick of the mind last?
At first, the spark will only appear once
But then again
And soon months between sparks turn into weeks
Weeks to days
Grab for the spark
It must be real now

And after five years
I pulled myself to the surface
Reaching for the spark
To grab, and put it back where it belongs
To put it back inside my chest
But the spark is still above me
And now I just need a ladder

© Copyright 2018 Molly McCarthy. All rights reserved.

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