Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 09/13/19

156841252498412892

The Void of Depression

It is a ferocious beast, dark and unrelenting,
pressing down on my back, it’s claws digging into my shoulders, down to bone.
Pressing, clawing, pressing, clawing. Wanting me to drown.
Convincing me this is the only solution.
This beast is real, it is a creature born of midnight and hatred.
It’s bloody bits sewn together with malice and isolation.
It is the demon crossed through the portal.
Sent to devour me. To pull me apart from the inside out.
Depression is literal hell on earth.
It is what shows you all the ways you are worthless and pathetic, blames you,
calls you names.
Depression rapes your mind.
The violent intruder stripping you down to nothing one excruciating layer at a
time, slowly, laughing gleefully at your misery.
Depression is the shapeshifter.
It is the lie it needs to be, it is smart. It veers right then left matching you move
for move at your every attempt to dislodge it.
It is lightning fast and whip-smart. Lash for lash bearing down on your back,
in your mind.
You
Worthless
Pathetic
Slob
You
Are
Not
Wanted
Lash after bloody lash. Pain upon pain, unbearable.
Your brain feels swollen, pressing against your skull, looking for a way out.
Depression is a ledge, a balancing act, a dear god please don’t let me die. A plea.
A surrender.
It is the oarsman to hell circling in the night, waiting, waiting for you to falter,
just enough to fall over the wrong side.
Depression is constant, unrelenting, SLAM SLAM SLAM.
An assault to every breath, every thought, every feeling.
An assassin with perfect aim, your soul the target.
It burns every comfort, every security, it blows up the foundation under your
feet.
It convinces you to hurt yourself and find solace in your pain.
Pain becomes familiar, home. Your foundation now built on pain, on failure,
your foundation becomes an invisible platform of pure torture.
It is the beast lying in wait, always ready to pounce when you think you have
defeated it.
Depression is a fight and constant exhaustion. It is torment. The bully.
The nightmare. The boogeyman. The monster under your bed, slinking up in
the night, slithering under your blankets, intimately caressing your body, you
are mine it purrs, you are mine.
Depression is here to convince us we are owned, our power depleted.
Give into me it croons, give into me.
Depression doesn’t want us to turn towards it. To face it.
It wants our backs, leaning around whispering sweet nightmares into our ears.
Depression doesn’t want us to turn around and stare it the fuck down.
It doesn’t want us to look and see what it’s made of.
My depression is made of years of fight, abuse, trauma. Years of feeling weird,
wrong, out of place.
My depression is made up of the collective voice, global pain. My depression is
made up of all the pain and suffering that ever existed in myself and in the
entire world.
My depression is only blackness oozing into my heart telling me to shave my
head, break my glasses, punch my fist until it bruises and then my head when
my fist is numb.
My depression uses any tool to keep me focused on the lie of how pathetic I am.
My depression doesn’t want me to turn around. It doesn’t want me to turn
around and see the truth.
The truth that my depression does not define me.
That I can stare it down until it cowers in the corner pleading to be released.
That my depression is hurt and pitiful and needs my permission to leave and
my fight to stay.
So, I will give it what it needs. I will give it permission to leave and I will
surrender my fight and choose love and light.
I will not feed it war.
For now, today, I will stare it down and say I see you motherfucker. You are not
me and you are not needed.
I will not fight you. I will surrender to my light.
For now, in this moment, I will find peace.
I will rise up each time you rise.
I will rise up higher, stand taller.
I will claim my power.
I will surrender to my light every single time.
I will not fight. I will not engage in battle. War is born of fear.
MY fight was born of fear.
MY depression is born of fear.
So I will not pick up my weapons.
I will surrender. Again and again and again.
I will surrender to how good I am.
I will surrender to being, remaining alive.
In my surrendering, I will turn towards my depression and lovingly tell it to go
fuck itself.

©Rani Whitehead all rights reserved

RW

Rani Whitehead is the founder and owner of Radiant Alchemy, a hub for “Liberating Your Magic”. As the sole practitioner of Radiant Alchemy, she combines her many life experiences through abuse, addiction and trauma with her skills as a Certified Intuitive Life and Spiritual Coach, Reiki Healer, Empath, writer and photographer to create a magical portal for you to step compassionately into your deepest healing, allowing you to discover your most authentic self and liberate your magic.

Facebook @radiantalchemy444

Instagram @radiant_alchemy

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