My nights during the critical time of depression

Posted on 15 de Agosto de 2014

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It is not merely a simple chronicle it is a reality written in the first person.
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As the sun sets, begins my quest to get some sleep.
Such a natural process because man is not an animal of the night, but of the day and light,
Nevertheless, when we are touched by this undesirable anomaly, our nature is reversed,
And makes us seek the darkness during the day, While at night our sleep wanes.

The night for the depress is a horror,
Sleep escapes, the lights go out, the silence speaks loudly, people disappear and we are left to ourselves alone at a night that threatened us that it will never get to an end.
Then, begin arriving unwanted companies,
Each more terrible than the other, all out of proportion to the size and shape reality.
They arrive making a deafening din,
But nobody is taking heed to them, just me that will be their victim for the whole night.
Fear is always the most talkative; does horrible threats,
Showing me frightening images of myself, given the utter destitution, and show me all whom I love and all the risks that surround them.

Then come fear and rejection in an ugly appearance, countenance fallen, dull eyes …
With cold hands touching me, handing me her unappealing.
It fills my heart with a notion of abandonment and unloving for everything.
Everyone and by everyone.
I hide myself under the most vulnerable covers it doesn’t work, but at least calm my heart a little of the drama of this repugnance.

Threat is the sister of fear, has strong echoes and an impressive voice,
Makes shudder all that is in us,
Their wickedness is in the ability to increase the size of everything that scares us,
She turns into real movies of destruction and death the most ordinary circumstances of life. These are scenes that never ends, sequenced, changing from one to another without pause.
What I have left, but roll over and over in bed all night, in a vain attempt to avert their look? What I have left, but cringe throughout, covering every inch of my physical structure, in a futile attempt to defend me from the nonexistent?
What I have left, but beg for the day when I’ll blot out from the sun and all, but somehow envision that good people go looking for me and want to take me out of this dimension of life in which inadvertently I got myself into?

The sneaky enters through cracks found in my stash of clothing.
Their names? Insecurity, self-pity, failure, discouragement, anger, hallucinations, anxiety and estrangement.
They hold my arms and legs, they cover my ears and mouth, they shut down my eyes, and with their sharp nails rip my chest in search for my heart, when they find it, they wrap it up with disbelief and replenish it, closing magically my chest.

Their wickedness does not stop there because they want my mind. Similarly, they find their ways up to my intellect, consciousness, thoughts, memories, hopes and dress them in gray straitjackets. At this point, the joy, satisfaction and happiness have fled, letting me alone in the hands of my tormenters.

It was another agonizing night, suffering and painful, but the sun has dawned. All wake up and continue their lives without realizing what I lived through. A mug of hot coffee seems to fetch me back to reality. Eye on the clock, it’s eight o’clock in the forenoon and at ten I have a doctor’s appointment.

I change my dress and drive to the doctor, where tell him how my night was, in doubt whether he actually understands me, and embarrassed,
I try to hide from him some details of what happened.
But he understands me and helps me see what I experienced last night.
He prescribes me some medications and warns me that healing is long and atrocious.
I walk out of there with a little more hope, way back home with a short stop at the pharmacy …
However, although I walk among the crowds, I feel myself alone.

The night comes back.
Without much hope I take these pills and lie down to await until I fall asleep.
I wake up and check at the clock: It is seven in the dawn.
The sun is now rising. I do not remember anything, I feel exhausted, I sleep a little more and wake up again, it is nine o’clock.

A mug of hot coffee helps me wake up and then I start to think that I can leave this deep hole in which I find myself.
I hear the voices of those who love me,
I realize that joy, satisfaction and happiness have returned, yet timidly, and sit beside me.
After months, I gave the first smile.

Yes, there is hope.

by Luis A R Branco

(Please, help me to share this, might be a help to others.)
If you like my poems you might want to check my poetry book “Aphorism of a Restless Soul”

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Posted in: Chronicle, Poem, Prose