Depression. I know that’s what it is, lapping at my bare feet and tickling my toes. It comes in waves, like the tide; pushing and pulling. I know she’s always there waiting, biding her time and readying herself to begin moving her things back in the day I forget to latch the door.

Thats the fight- not with HER, per say, but the inevitable unlocked deadbolt that allows her in. She’s patient. Doesn’t mind waiting on the grass down below, sprawled out, picking clovers. We are tied together, like lovers her and I, until the end of time. I used to pretend she didn’t exist, tried forcing myself to believe I’d made her all up in my head. But we are bound; married for eternity, Depression and I, and when I get too tired she is always there to hold my cup.

She lulls me to sleep with her melancholy lullaby, and I pray to never wake. This place is hot, is cold; is dark and wet, and the other is safe and warm. Sing me your sweet melody, bring me tears and your heavy headed sighs. I can’t run from her, that never works, for she’s never more than two steps behind.

Sometimes I feel locked in a cell, staring through the bars of my eyes. Do you ever feel that way? Cold, unmoving, staring on the outside, while inside there’s only screams and the rattling of steel. DOES ANYONE HEAR ME?? CAN anyone hear me? Can anyone SEE me?? Though I don’t mean regular seeing, I mean the kind that pierces the soul- understands the threads and fault lines in between. We are all just floating plates, moving and colliding with one another. I’ve come to grips finally, with the realization that no one knows. No one can know, both ways. I am perplexed by the conscience, the individualism of us all; walking universes covered in stardust. Can we PLEASE just admit we all have no fucking clue? So I can feel some oneness with you in this cold.

The wind blows, goosebumps sending shivers up my spine, waking me from this abysmal daydream; the swallower of minutes. I don’t know how long it’s been, and it doesn’t even matter. The stream of conscience and time move sideways uphill, both surging and sporadic. I’m still the same person I’ve always been- can this even be??? On the outside I’ve changed, been weathered and bare responsibilities; I take care. But on the inside, dear God I am the same fucking child, just as confused as I was at the beginning of this madness. Is that the truth? The only truth? That nothing really matters and everything matters and we will never, ever, KNOW.

My head is pounding. I slug ibuprofen down with rapid sips of coffee- I know caffeine doesn’t help but it makes me feel less muddled, helps me think clearly. I don’t like mucking around here in the swamps. I remember poor Artek, and can’t let that happen to me. Can’t get lost. Can’t lose hope. So I plod on, one foot in front of the other- just like you. Thinking about the grown ups who told us it gets better; the same ones who spun tales of courageous and gallant conquerors.

But that was all a lie. Life was built on a foundation of lies and untruths, and once you see the facade for what it is happiness is elusive.

Like the garden. There where she waits for me to open the door. Picking clovers, and humming her sweet melodies.