Like the man in that crowd,
My darkest side comes out as it approaches evening,
Falling into depression and sadness,
Ragged breathing while crying without meaning.
Dark is the only consolation in this state of mind,
You don’t have to stay though,
Just leave me behind
To wallow in my sad state of sorrow and bewilderment
At my own strange temperament,
Wondering in shame what I mean by depression
When I’m fine in the daytime.
No one knows what I meant
When I said I was spent,
I didn’t mean money, it’s not the dime that bothers me
As much as the sad cadence of my heartbeat,
That irregular rhyme.
But I’m sure you don’t have time
To mind or consider, and I don’t blame you,
How could I ever explain that I can’t be happy
When I’m in this mood, my state of truth?
The gloom of its presence overshadowed me. I wanted to break out of its confinement. But it wouldn’t allow something like that. It held me tighter each time. I needed something more to get out. I needed a stronger will, or a heart less deprived than my own.
Perhaps I needed a different skin. If I wasn’t so… so malleable, molding into whatever it wanted me to become, I could’ve just walked away. In retrospect, I did try to change at one time, but that’s exactly what it wanted me to do. Changing is just a symptom of this disease overriding me.
It’s pushing me further now. Is it too late? I wasn’t over the edge yet, but it was telling me to take one more step.
“So this is it,” I whispered shakily that night against the sudden breeze that sent my hands into an uncontrollable tremor. I didn’t like the abrupt sharpness of my voice in the cold, tranquil night. I decided not to speak again. Instead, I listened to its earnest encouragement, forced my shaking to subside, and I took one more step.
* * * * * * * *
The ripple effect. One thing led to another. They said drugs take away your sense of self-identity. I didn’t do drugs. But I did something worse.
I did have a choice. I didn’t have to do any of the things venomously whispered to me. I had a future. I had people who would have cared. I didn’t have to do the horrid thing–to myself–that changed lives, my life. Or well, lack of one now.
It was a silent sort of night, dark and uninhabitable. She felt the black creep up into her veins–veins that were screaming for impending Doom to halt, but why would it listen to the piteous, skinny components of such an inferior creature? The unwelcome gloom seeped into her bloodstream, infecting her happy hormone secreting glands, turning them into oblivious vestigial organs that merely squatted in the cage she called a body.
Infested with parasites as she was, she could not maneuver much but her mind. Her mind. Firing off electrical pulses that tried, burst, and fried. They too could not function very well anymore after all.
So there she sat, sequestered in the melancholy dark, being consumed slowly by her own self. There was no one else. Or at least, she could not see them. Or their hospitable hands.
She remained stuck and still. Still here. Still there, in the silent sort of night.