From the Light my soul has hidden itself,
Enveloped by darkness and the shadows that accompany it,
Guided by the guise of light offered by billions of glittering, twinkling stars,
Each of which is majestic and glorious,
Culminating into an even greater totality:
The serenity of our galaxy.
And while this mesmerization by which I find myself captivated is inherent and good and natural,
It is distracting to the hopefulness of my soul in its present state,
Causing me to become complacent,
Causing me to forget the promise of the true Light that is to come.
Thus it is with desperation that I cry out when these shining jewels are taken from me by the crack of dawn,
Leaving naught in their place but the pale color of a lightless sky.
For these few minutes I question the source of my hope:
Is this all to which life amounts — fleeting, sparse shimmers of light enticing me from every angle?
I am answered by the breaking of the sun's rays across the horizon.
I gasp for air at the Light's refreshment from the darkness in which I didn't realize I was suffocating.
The Light bathes the treetops,
Washing over more of the earth with each passing minute.
I wait with anticipation as I watch it melt away the shadows,
Golden majesty being soaked up by every living thing.
Here I remember the promise:
That the true Light gives light to everyone.
And as my body and soul are warmed by the Light's embrace I cling to truth:
That the Light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.
Written from the heart of one struggling with depression.
Some days I lack hope.
Some days the weight of it all is simply too much to bear.
Sometimes a random, unpredictable concoction of words will be the trigger,
Sending me from my okay self into a seemingly everlasting downward spiral.
It may start as a bother, as a fleeting painful thought,
But then it returns, growing more pressing with each pass through my now-panicking mind,
And I find myself having to make a decision:
Do I flee in hopes of escaping to freedom
Or do I bow up and fight like every instinct in my body urges me to do?
As I make the decision that will release me from my burden I realize that I can do neither,
For how can I when the aggressor is my own mind?
Such is my internal state --
Reason and instinct wrestling, rolling hither and tither about my mind --
When I break out the mask that will adorn my face until either the offensive or defensive side of the ongoing war concedes.
Time serves as the only teller of that surrender, be it hours, days or weeks.
And so I function as a shell of my captured self, having been stolen by the demands of this conflict,
Holding the mask to my face at all times.
If it seems like I'm not okay --
If it seems like I'm "tired" or "quiet" --
Just remember that even the lightest things become unbearably heavy after enough time has passed holding them.
And if it seems that around you I let my unmasked self come up for air,
Know that it's because I trust you enough to love me anyways.