Jayhawk51

Depression--Spoken Word

When does the mask come off? When does the weight become too much? The masks wear out and crack. The weight never lightens. The moment is different, yet similar for everyone in the midst of their struggle. The rain of depression in our mind begins to fall. The ceiling becomes a canvass of despair and sadness. Shoulders finally slump under the weight of the weeks of pretending everything is ok. The dull aching pain of exhaustion radiates through bones and muscles. Then, the mind numbing flood of questions and uncertainty. What's my purpose? Instead of answers, doubt and worthlessness fill the cracks of the shattered soul. Wondering through the dark, dank, fog of the unknown. Blindly searching for answers, but only finding more pain. Pain that crushes, flattens, and destroys. There's a snap, a break, a point of realization. Emotion takes over. The twisting agony of the angry tears and hopeless sobs. Nothing is of any interest. Rotting, withering, and decaying away seems just fine. The darkness slowly surrounds you, gripping you. Suddenly, there's nothing but hopelessness and guilt. Death begins to whisper and grows louder. The tears become unstoppable. The sobs become stifled shrieks of pure suffering. The ferocity of every emotion comes to a climax. It is in that climax which we decide to live or die. The outcome is unknown, but the trail of destruction of the soul is indelible. The storm quiets, but the dark cloud never goes away. The consistent rain of depression is always falling in our heads. We sit in the rain for a while, trying to regain the will to live again. Then, after a while, the mask is picked up, along with the pieces of our psyche we need to make it through. The next person that sees the mask doesn't see the real evidence of the ordeal we just went through, but can sense something is wrong. Through the rain, we hear the question that has become nothing more than empty, apathetic, words. "Are you ok?"
We pause. The rain pattering in our heads as we offer a glance with our masked face. "I'm fine."
Whatever is said next doesn't matter, as the echoing footsteps of indifference intensify as they go on their way. Alone. Again. In the rain of depression. There's a grumble of thunder, a flash of lightning to remind us of life. The mask works, the weight has been adjusted, one last deep breath. We start our walk back into the storm.



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