And you released it. It's all your fault. What have you done this time.
You have gambled on something you didn't understand; you have failed to
comprehend the gravity of what it is you have put out there on the
table; bet or fold; you are going to lose everything again.
And for what?
For her?
For you?
You don't even know do you?
You sit there in your room; in your house; in your measly existence,
and you sit there alone. You don't have anyone there for you. No one
has anyone there for them.
Life is cold. Life is lonely. Life is empty. Life is pointless. Life is short. Life is ephemeral. Life is over
Your life is over.
The only person you can count on is yourself
The only person you can rely on is yourself
The only person you can trust is yourself.
And what happens when that disappears? What on earth do you do when the
one person in your life you can trust simply vanishes? Where do you go
when you are lost? What do you do when you are gone. I can't see you
anymore, you've faded away into the grey and no matter how much I claw
at it I can't find you. And now I need you, I really need you and
require everything you are urgently.
Because I can feel it today, I can feel it as clear as ever: it is
always there, it never disappears. I can feel it holding me at the
ankles - strong, firm. The arms that reach out of the ground, no matter
where you are. The hands that plough upwards through the soil, and
they're always directly beneath you. The ground shakes; your world
shakes; your vision peters out; a shadow casts black and ominous and it
is there.
Grip once, grip again. Firm. Hard. Strong. It sqeezes you, tight, and
from there you are trapped. It has you by this point. But lets face it,
it always had you - today is simply the first day you felt it. Today is
the first day you felt it AGAIN because YES it HAS been here before.
You recognise those cold hands on your ankles when you walk, when you
stand in a queue, when you sit in your chair. You know those dead hands
SO WELL by now because they have been there before. You've got the
scars there to prove it. You know exactly how it weighs upon you, you
know exactly how it terrifies you when you are alone because you know
what comes next. Yes, it IS coming, and denial will only make the shock
of it worse when the inevitable arrives. That cold, clammy chill on
your ankle is only the start of something you have felt before and you
are dreading the next. You hate the way it catches you slowly, the way
it creeps up on you day by day, week by week BUT IT IS ALWAYS THERE.
From the ankles, the frosty hands slide their palms up your legs and
onto your chest.
He is behind you. You are laying on top of him. You are laying on top of a dead man.
You're paralysed and there isn't anything you can do. You have no one,
not even yourself, and there is no escape from this fate, and as you
feel his dead lifeless legs wrap around yourself, you wish for the end
to arrive and finalise this horrific misery. But no, because that would
be too easy wouldn't it. You have to live through this no matter what,
and his legs don't let you go. They don't even ease. They bind your own
legs together so you can't move them. It clamps you down as his one arm
covers your chest and clings you into itself, while his other arm
engages his hand, the icy hand that slides itself on the side of your
neck and onto your cheek. Rough, brittle, dead. It covers your mouth so
you can't scream. And that is the end, you may as well be dead.
Instead, you live as the dead - a wandering, lost, empty shell of a
human who wants to end the misery.
Your only solace, your only comfort is sleep because he can't hear you
while you sleep. You become someone else and you are free from a
miserable world you can't think about since you're under the hypnotic
spell of a slumber. Aha but he is smart, he knows what he is doing and
now he has come to rape you of the final happiness you had, to destroy
that final haven of joy that was your untouchable dreams, because now
he has found a way in. And that is your end. Life is miserable, cold
and suffocating. And now sleep has become a mirror of that. End game.
Dead.
And there you were thinking you had done so well by shirking this, you
thought that that dark cloud that had been cast prevously had been cast
away by you. YES you were FIGHTING this and you WON! You'd BEATEN the
monster and cast the dead back into the ground. It had all GONE and you
were FREE.
That was until, of course, he came back. He never sleeps, he is always
awake and he scours and searches for a way back in. Don't let it back
in.
You were a fool to think he would ever leave you, and an even bigger
fool if you still believe he will leave you. No, he is here to stay
because he is quite enjoying himself at this point. He has a host, a
human life to grip onto and to clutch close to his chest. He is real in
this world now because he inhabits you. He lives inside your skin now.
He sees what you see, eats what you eat, says what you say, kisses who
you kiss, fucks who you fuck.
Or, rather, is it the other way. He is inside me now, he is a resident
of my body and yet, do I see what he sees? Do I eat what he eats. Do I
say what he says? Do I kiss who he kisses? Do I fuck who he fucks?
Because it feels like it now.
I am not my own self these days, I am someone completely different:
someone I don't even recognise in the mirror, and that is because I am
possessed by the demon that is my depression. He has turned me into
what I am right now because I am him. He hijacked my persona many
months ago and transformed me into what he is. This is a final
declaration on my old life, one final goodbye, a last commemoration to
my old life that I loved so much and that I worked so hard for.
But I am him now.
And I am not going to be allowed back.
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