This tale is true and mine, involving the dark recesses of my mind. My brain is the darkest room where my most vicious feelings lie. Barred
to keep them in. Every now and again they rally, destroy the barrier,
they escape. Anger. Depression.
Anger likes to lace itself into my veins. A dark in waging war
against my red blood cells, engulfing them until all that races through my body is
thick,
black
ink. It spreads to every region of my body. Fusing itself with my tissues, my muscles, my bones. It hardens my jaw and makes me scowl which, in return, makes people ask if 'I'm okay?' My mind screams
DO I LOOK OKAY? DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW? My mouth forces out
'I'm fines' and 'I'm okays' but the raging anger mars them
causing them to sound
clipped
annoyed. As quickly as it comes
it goes. Dissipating until most of what remains is Depression. IT likes to take root in my brain, makes me feel imaginary pain. It’s an icy grip that snakes through the water and
crushes my ankle with its hold. Depression drags me
underneath the midnight waves; down below where there is no light from the moon,
no noise from the ocean Despair. Deeper still. My hands claw
at the water, both lungs moan. Depression squeezes my body with
punishing hands and farther I’m pulled until my foot scrapes the bottom,
Rock Bottom. And that’s where it chains me, Depression,
to an ancient ball and chain. Suspended above the floor, limbs
floating in the deep-sea currents. Chained for an eternity to mistakes of the past.
Mistakes that make me numb. I see nothing, I hear nothing, I feel nothing. My heart,
wrapped in anger, mottled with despair, tries to shake the nothingness. It yearns
to feel something. Control. Not tiny wisps that float aimlessly about, but
composure in concentration. Enough to live a life without
Loss
Of
Control.