When Even Asking For Help Is Too Much To Ask

When you’re out for the count, you can’t see past dark

Depression is a debilitating disposition that can be breathlessly alluring if you sit in it long enough to be mesmerized by how quickly you can make that steep fall — without warning or anything tangible to hold on to for the deathly plunge.

When I imagine how long it has been since I sat on my bed as a pre-teen and briefly considered burning down the house after exhaustively wading through the options that would provide permanent relief — I can’t help but stare at my parents as they casually entertain the day — without any clue of what their only daughter suffered under their care.

It wasn’t their fault, and it wasn’t mine, but what remains is the residue of a stolen childhood and the formality of surviving the worst and preparing for the ultimate showdown between dueling spirits.

I’m winning so far, but the war is far from over as I contemplate how easily I succumbed to the temptation of free falling from my friend’s high-rise apartment after a lone session on the treadmill. The bright beautiful sky with fluffy white clouds was offensive, and the last song I heard was eerily dramatic with a tempo that could match a loud thud.