I am not in denial

of the narcissistic nature of my depression.

This illness is a room,

four walls without windows:

me, me, me, even while it

cloaks me with self-loathing.

It hurts, doesn’t it?

A physical pain,

my heart aches in my chest

but also

my head pounds, my hair, every strand

is painful to touch.

Each step a plod,

a shudder through my bones

that suggests they are on the verge of simply

shattering.

I desperately want to talk (think!) of bigger things:

poverty, addiction, politics—topics beyond myself,

the world-pain everywhere.

But I fear the bewilderment of

sadness would be too much

and what wits I have left

would swiftly leave me.

It’s a dark and selfish place. 

I see the light in my son’s smile,

in books, in sleep (oh, precious and so longed for),

I know it waits.

But right now,

I’m trapped inside four walls

and I cannot find a door. 

Relephant Read:

How Meditation & Buddhism Helped Me Through Depression: 4 Simple Methods.

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Author: Keeley MIlne

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photos: Pixabay