Blue - Unpublished Journals of Depression III

I haven't thought about killing myself for 62 days.
I promised myself to sleep in the arms of forgiveness.
I danced my grief and my pain until I was too exhausted.
I climbed to the top of the mountain just to watch the sunset.
I felt alive and I was grateful for the first time in so long.

But she could not leave me be, and I felt her shadow self
Her blue watery eyes followed me in disapproval,
And she stood cold and certain that I'd be back in her arms
My foul mother, Depression, reminds me constantly
That most days I am more victim than I am survivor.

When recovery is not just antidepressants, exercise and therapy
It is courage. It is hard. It is painful.
So it didn't surprise me when she got a hold of me
On a sunny Saturday as I walked back home from the supermarket
And she whispered once more in my ear.

"You think you get to start over, child?
You think anyone would ever be capable of loving you?
You, the victim, the widow, the sad girl?
When have you ever been enough?"
And this time, I listened to her.

I got home and battled my way through taking a shower
Just out of sttuborness, you see
She wouldn't get a hold of my body after getting a hold of my mind
I curled up on bed and gave up just for that day
And my heart, a bushfire, went cold.

I haven't thought about killing myself in 43 minutes.