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Sept. 24, 2004 It's happening again, I can feel it. The Darkness is seeping into me through any means possible. I thought I had banished it, beaten back this affliction; I guess not. Could it have chosen any worse time? No. Depression is a cancer that eats and eats and refuses to cease. Sometimes I wish to able to live- for just one day- without this beast snapping at my heels and dragging me down. I try to remember what I was like before all of this, when everything was good, happy, and most of all, right…but I can't. It was too long ago. There are moments when I return once again to the girl I used to be; it is in these moments that I am happy. Happiness is such a precious commodity these days. Few have it, many want it, and nobody can do without. Even the most tenuous thing is so dreary it's almost unbearable. Everyone I see has some sorrow upon their darkened minds, some trivial iniquity that consumes them whole with regret. No one is guilty these days, just regretful. I still have a couple of sparks left that the Darkness cannot take from me: if it does, I am lost. It will not take from me the last of my hope. Kindness would do the world good. Every heart is frozen with fear of the prospect of losing, every face drawn with the worries of a planet that revolves too fast for us. Cold cash and colder hearts, they say, that's what makes the world go round. The sun gives us not heat, but fire: each second is priced. What is the price of trust nowadays? Why pay for honesty when you can earn with lies? Nothing is as it seems, nothing is worth its value. Morals go cheap, yet no one buys. I see the world through alien eyes; a place I used to feel so at home in is now completely new to me. Who are these strangers who laugh and joke with me? Whose eyes do I search morning after morning when I look into the mirror? The very clouds that once boasted their silver linings weep and hide their tarnished skins. The heavens offer no solace, the heavens offer no sanctuary. Dawn comes with bloodshot eyes and the eve sleeps fitfully. Can nothing be saved from this holocaust? Not even my own soul? I wander through my home, through the streets of the city searching for something, anything. Perhaps I can find myself in my travels…perhaps I can find others. People mean nothing; their lives mean nothing. All is wasted on a daily basis: a hundred youths slaughtered one day, an entire nation brought to its knees the next. With such headlines, is it any wonder that we turn to drugs? Commit sins, wash our hands of the blood, and continue as if nothing has happened-to speak it aloud is to make it real. Anything that worded in such a way that is politically correct is allowed. We are not deranged and we are not crazy; we are mentally unstable. We are not murders we are ethnic cleansers. We are not mindless drones; we are intellectually inept adherents to an unworthy cause. Depression is just a fad. I know how to fight the Darkness, so I have a little more leverage than the rest. The ones who truly suffer are lost in the masses. When the crowd has moved on, when being depressed is the trend of yesterday, the ones that will remain are the ones who needed help the most. The ones who needed help all along. What have we done to ourselves? ------------ About the author: Ambreen is a somewhat cynical high school student who thinks teenagers are pretty much crazy (herself included). Any questions? Email Ambreen at: stardust_inc786@hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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