I sit in the hands of the almighty, a speck on skin the hue of the galaxy. I am there not because of any exaltation, yet to protect what is left of my dying flame, the eternal allspark that is supposed to last forever.
When you have risen from darkness as many times as I have, when you have invented fire to keep others warm, yet it was your own self you used as the fuel, God understands the desire not to get back up. He does. Depression is another form of self protection, as extreme and counterproductive as it appears. Everything has a biological reason. Depression is the chains that holds me back from burning my last ounce of fuel, that says you can't keep on giving because all they do is take.
In depression I am the ashes. I hear the universe calling out the song of the phoenix. I hear it asking me to rise. I've been doing just that all my life, conquering this again and again. I got so good at beating it, at rising on wings of flame, that everyone thinks I'm unbreakable. What they don't see is that I break a hundred times a day. All they see is the light. All they feel is the warmth. All I feel is the endless burning.
In the suffering of the human soul the inner candle flickers in each emotional storm; yet in depression the wick is unlit, as if there never was a flame, as if the warmth of love had been only imagined.
In depression the soul becomes a mirror to a loveless universe, one that reflects the endless emptiness, unable to see the light.
I reach out into the ether, into the emotional universe, only to discover that all pathways are cold ashes. I was born for love, to give and receive it, as all humans are. And my inner world mirrors what it finds. It mirrors nothing. That is my depression. It is the absence of any real and dependable love.
In this depression there is no dancing of my soul, no light. I watch the fire burn in long languid flames and instead of the wood that turns to ashes, it is my life that is gone. I imagine that the flame are turning photographs to ashes, that it is my memories that are being cindered. I imagine that the light I once imagined to exist in those relationships, the love that I once believed would be protective and steadfast, has been released into the universe. In that there is a freedom. In that there is a clean slate.
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