The fog will lift

The fog will lift, I keep telling myself

Forcing out the breaths while waiting it out

This is not an insurmountable state

A vacuum pulling me from myself

It is not spiralling beyond hope

Despite the dark’s insistence it will win

Days may be empty but not wasted

The sun sets and rises or eyes adjust

Hope is not in overcoming or escape

But in the collection of tear soaked scars

And not because they make you stronger

This is seeing life in all its colours

Enduring happiness is not success

Any more than avoidance of sorrow

Bruises hint of a heart that is engaged

Though it’s ache might cast a deep shadow

The fog will lift and though it may linger

Dancing in my peripheral vision

This is stormy weather I must get through

For now I breathe and wait for what comes next

Mirror

Scared I may not recognise what I see

I force myself to stand at the mirror

To look for where I might have gone

Some sign deep beneath reaching up

It has been so long since I knew who owned my body

Controlled the gates so often shut

Determined the colour of words that fall

From my bitten battered lips

My skin, dented from clenched fingers

Crawls as stifling air swirls

I am here somewhere but not present

Abdication has left incoherent trails

It seems I have abandoned this ship

Left bobbing in turbulent waters

Watching with waived will

As life passes through this sinking vessel

It is not clear whether I can or will come back

The point of no return jumps forward and behind

Hot tears mingle on unfamiliar cheeks

I wait for a final gasp as I go under

My breath fills my retching chest

Eyes too tired from being forced open

A tiny flicker catches my soul’s gaze

I am here in this, longing to start again

Scared I may not recognise what I see

I force myself to stand at the mirror

To look for where I might have gone

Ready to bring her back to liberation

Dear Clouds,

You are not welcome here

I know you will not leave

But please move yourself to the edge

You can be on the periphery for now

Be warned, you will be ignored

You are not welcome here

You may still shout and taunt

Expect progressive disregard

You are not the only narrative in here

I have stronger truths to entertain

The weight of your lies will diminish

You are not welcome here

I am well aware you’ll persistently linger

Stubbornly murmuring in my ear

The days when you overwhelm me

Will become fewer and less potent

The days you rule will barely register

You are not welcome here

I know your tricks and distortions

As well as you know my weakness

I am prepared for the uphill struggle

Regardless of how many times you trip me

I will never run out of strength completely

You are not welcome here

Poorly Paw

I came back from Colombia determined to put my childish ways to rest and alter some of my less helpful thinking once and for all.

In some respects I have succeeded; I have worn my high heels and smart dresses despite the weather or occasion.  And it has felt great.

I have spring cleaned my belongings and got round to some things I'd been procrastinating over.

I have refused to get stressed over work or anything beyond my control.

I have booked holidays and invested in friends.

Feeling sorry for herself.

Then Mabel got hurt, and so did I.  She cut her foot flinging herself after a ball on the estuary.  I got cut up by my blasted clouds again.  She was back on her feet after three weeks.  I wasn't.

It came from no where really - and that's what is so frustrating.  However instead of dissecting the cause I have chosen to be far more honest about how I struggle.  Because one in four people do too at some point and the only way to start to cope is by not being ashamed of it.

It's hard not to be angry that every time I feel like I'm getting to a happy place the wind is taken from my sails.  It's hard not to feel guilty at how I let others down and am not great to be around.  It's hard not to be self pitying and give air to the lies the clouds surround me with.

I'm having to learn that despite all the promises I make to myself, the resolutions I make public, the lists I write... for me clouds will come and interrupt.  But sod them, I will still promise, resolve and list.

One way I've found to channel my struggle and dis-empower the voice that tells me I'm useless is to write.  I'm not a poet and I'm lacking in a fair wodge of education... but it's wonderful therapy.  It's all written with the intention that it stays between God and me, but I wonder if this little musing might be helpful to all those who don't know what depression feels like but would like to understand.

Like I said, hardly poetry.  But sod you clouds.  I am not ashamed.

As the light dims doubt starts to fill the air

All that was clear and simple now seems blurred

The dark begins its invasion, stealing sight

Clarity drains from view and calm threatens to fade

The darkness now crawling through the cracks

Increases its assault on my senses, numbing and dull

Now grabbing at shapes, the certainty of form so distant

I fear I’ll be enveloped never to be in sharp definition again

Now in the black shadows my soul is in hiding

Scared of both being forgotten and being noticed

I was sure I knew where everything was placed

But now the alarm of reaching out overwhelms me

After a while my eyes acclimatise and seeing is a fantasy

It’s safe here protected in the incomplete scenery

Please close all the curtains, let me slow to the pace of grey

I think I might find contentment here in the quiet

Here no one puts forward their shrill demands

The dark shields me from the empty, filling the nothing

Its power slows the rhythm of pressure and dims the burden

I can lay it all down here, lay me down to rest