The air feels warm and dry from the furnace. I roll over and open one eye. The red, heavy curtains are drawn at the Gramercy Park Hotel. My bones ache. My insides feel foreign. A thought screams in my head. I should be happy. I hold my hand and grasp my chest and cave my shoulders in and dig deeper under the covers.
Two different worlds scream. Some call this place, a dark hole, the end of the road, or the image of a black dog chasing you, or some deny this place and say to themselves just“think positive.”I call this place, the trenches. I am mud deep. Lost.
I peer up to see if I can grasp onto anything to pull me out: a root, a rope, a hand, or the earth itself to give guidance. Fog appears. Thick and drifting down, it comes to swallow me whole. I do not resist. I know this darkness. This fog. My heart beats of what is next to come. The king size bed taunts me. I curl up tighter in a ball, as a child would, and hug my pillow. I close my eyes. Waiting for sleep to come. My heart aches. I feel so alone.
The urge to fight is only a distant memory. The fog settles at the bottom of the trenches. There is no longer light. There is no longer hope. I pull myself even tighter and rock back and forth, till I feel the fog penetrate my mind and sinks in.
By Mac Wolf
Depression hurts. And it can kill. Removing the stigma on depression helps us understand that mental illness is the same as physical illness. Rally around each other. Be kind and gentle to those that suffer with depression. And to yourself. It truly does help!