Depression is really, really shit.
For the past 4 and a half years I've had cancer. During that time I've had at least half a dozen big surgeries, and countless smaller ones. I've had 18 months of chemotherapy. I've been really, really sick. At various times I've been unable to walk, unable to eat, unable to shower, unable even to take care of myself. But I've said this to so many people, and its a truth I'll repeat here. Nothing cancer could ever do to me- even if it takes my life- no amount of pain or nausea or loss of quality of life, none of it could ever compare to the anguish of depression, and of suicidality. Depression is a suffering all its own.
Many of the years of my short life have been marked by the insidious reality of this terrible illness. From the time I was a young teen and my sexuality made itself known, even if just to me, the demons of shame and guilt took up residence in my spirit. There they thrived on a rich diet of lies- lies told and heard. Slowly, they ate away at me. Slowly they turned me into an alcoholic, a shell of a person- lonely, angry, confused, suicidal. Slowly they broke me. Slowly they stole everything from me- stripped it away until there was nothing left. My joy. My peace. My hope. My friends. My life. All gone.
I am eternally thankful to my God that that is not the end of my story. God held onto me through those darkest of tear and blood-soaked nights, through those attempts on my own life, through those drunken stupors, night after night. Even when I never saw, never heard, never even knew. Even when, in Job's anguish, I cried out “Oh that I might have my request, that God would grant what I hope for, that God would be willing to crush me, to let loose his hand and cut me off!” But still God held me. And in God's good time, those demons of shame and guilt were exposed to the Truth. And faced with the name of Jesus Christ, the Truth, their diet of lies dried up. But that's another story... ;-)
Recently, while cleaning my room, I came across this old story I wrote way back when I was in high school. Despite racking my brains, and combing for clues, I cannot for the life of me remember which year it was, how old I was, or even which school I was going to when I wrote this story. I can say with confidence that this would have been written well before the peak of my depression. But it's an interesting (if very, very disturbing!) insight into the mind of a depressed young person.
This is the only piece of writing I kept from those days. I must have liked it. I suppose I do still kinda like it. I hope you like it too. :-)
Dies Irae
...they fought. The ages passed and still they continued. Time was of no consequence, for theirs was an eternal battle. Rain fell and in the black of night, one man, alone, tried to conquer Death. Two figures dueling, distant and timeless. A cloaked shadow, Death, and a plain man, Life. The shadow bore no form- only being. Try as it might, the moon could not pierce the clouds. And so they fought in darkness. Swords clashed. Alone, they fought through the night- man against demon, light against shadow, Life against Death. The rain continued, yet the flames of their swords burnt the darkness- black fire of Death; white fire of Life. Both moved quickly. Life dancing, weaving, lunging. But all to no avail. Death knew the battle was won. The shadow feared nothing, for it was fear itself. Lightning flashed, black light of hell, Angels of Darkness. And then something happened that Death had not foreseen. Death shrieked and the battle was lost...
**********
...As he ran, spirits chanted. Hell's choir, Life's requiem. The cathedral, with its towering spires, stood tall in the night. Demons pranced and death was alive. But still he ran, chasing that which terrified him most. Only a vehement passion for life enabled him to chase Death. But Death was cunning. How cunning a plan to lead Life away from life and towards death. The city passed. The man was alone. Nothing protected Life from death. Surroundings of comfort gave way to bleak marshes. Shrouded in mist, these marshes were a playground for the lifeless. Only there did Death stop running and Life stop chasing. There they fought. The ages passed and still they continued...
**********
...A cry that severed the night, sending a fearful warning to those who dwelt in that unfortunate city. The man lay entranced in a hellish dream, for Death had touched his body. The fit ended, but he was truly dead. He was now in a nightmare world where darkness reigned and the minds of men were tortured. Spirit separated from body. Yet he still felt fear. But he knew his duty. The shapeless demon must be destroyed. The sword of life- burning, blazing. Blinding light compelled him. The man rose. Death fled. Life gave chase. As he ran, spirits chanted. Hell's choir...
**********
...Only down. He saw feet stripped of protection, pale white but for the blood that seeped from tears in the skin. His movements were erratic as he persisted through the rain- movements of a man haunted by fear itself. Darkness, heavy as death, enveloped his surroundings. He darted into a murky lane where shadows pranced in a celebration of the dead. The naked walls loomed over his beaten body. Eyes peered from heavenly windows as he splashed and parried towards an escape. He tripped. His body sprawled across the path, scarcely conscious. Blood flowed from his wounds in a steady stream, and seeped into the cracks in the ground. The rain hardened. Hair stuck to his face. Water ran into his ear, and across his hand. A door creaked high above and a family sat down to eat. Struggling to move, he looked up into the night sky, rain pounding on his eyes. Lightning exposed the darkness, revealing the shadow poised above its victim. There was no shape, only presence. Its eyes, mere slits in the formless face, penetrated his soul and he shrank, trembling. The cloaked figure swooped and, with arm outstretched giving definition to the amorphous body, shrieked. A cry that severed the night, sending a fearful warning...
**********
...Death was alive, a predator in the night, searching for that man. Oblivious, citizens walked the streets, hurriedly going about their business. Their only clue, a cloaked figure lingering in the dark, whispering in a serpent's voice as they scurried past. Not one of them could understand his harsh language, but all felt fear. It pierced their souls. None who heard it survived the night. The shadow continued- never stopping, never tiring. It glided through the night. No feet ever touched the ground. And still that man ran. He ran, but from what he did not know. He had shed the black coat that once covered his body. Its presence had disturbed him. Still he ran. No shoes, and little to cover his wet body. As he ran, stones cut and bruised his feet. Terror burned in his eyes, though others saw insanity. And still he ran. Finally, he rested, cold and bruised. Rain continued. A rag doll lay sodden on the ground, its limbs bent and deformed. A child's love, now trampled cruelly underfoot. From the shadows appeared the cloaked figure. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled... fear personified. To human eyes, there was no shape or colour to its face. Only two bright slits for eyes. Far away, the cathedral's bells tolled... Dies Irae. Their eyes met and the man fled. Death was his fear. He ran, looking neither forward nor backward. Only down. He saw feet stripped of protection...
**********
Far away, a man fled his nightmares. Shadowy images filled his thoughts. He ran through the rain. The shadows of darkness remained behind as he passed into the light. Yet his cloak smelt of death. His past filled with shadows of the dead, but he could not remember. Death was alive, a predator in the night...
**********
Death shrieked, and the battle was lost. Lightning cracked as the shadow of Death was pierced. Time faltered. Life and Death were connected as one. Storms raged and seas boiled. From inside the shadow, a light. Brighter and brighter. And then there was nothing. The cloak, the shadow, Death was no more. The man stood, silent and alone. Rain swept across the marshes. He fell, for he too had suffered a fatal wound. His mind slipped into darkness. His body followed. No longer did he possess any humanly shape- only being. Blackness surrounded his body. He was but a shadow, veiled by a dark robe. Death lived again...
2 Corinthians 6:14- ...for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?
For the past 4 and a half years I've had cancer. During that time I've had at least half a dozen big surgeries, and countless smaller ones. I've had 18 months of chemotherapy. I've been really, really sick. At various times I've been unable to walk, unable to eat, unable to shower, unable even to take care of myself. But I've said this to so many people, and its a truth I'll repeat here. Nothing cancer could ever do to me- even if it takes my life- no amount of pain or nausea or loss of quality of life, none of it could ever compare to the anguish of depression, and of suicidality. Depression is a suffering all its own.
Many of the years of my short life have been marked by the insidious reality of this terrible illness. From the time I was a young teen and my sexuality made itself known, even if just to me, the demons of shame and guilt took up residence in my spirit. There they thrived on a rich diet of lies- lies told and heard. Slowly, they ate away at me. Slowly they turned me into an alcoholic, a shell of a person- lonely, angry, confused, suicidal. Slowly they broke me. Slowly they stole everything from me- stripped it away until there was nothing left. My joy. My peace. My hope. My friends. My life. All gone.
I am eternally thankful to my God that that is not the end of my story. God held onto me through those darkest of tear and blood-soaked nights, through those attempts on my own life, through those drunken stupors, night after night. Even when I never saw, never heard, never even knew. Even when, in Job's anguish, I cried out “Oh that I might have my request, that God would grant what I hope for, that God would be willing to crush me, to let loose his hand and cut me off!” But still God held me. And in God's good time, those demons of shame and guilt were exposed to the Truth. And faced with the name of Jesus Christ, the Truth, their diet of lies dried up. But that's another story... ;-)
Recently, while cleaning my room, I came across this old story I wrote way back when I was in high school. Despite racking my brains, and combing for clues, I cannot for the life of me remember which year it was, how old I was, or even which school I was going to when I wrote this story. I can say with confidence that this would have been written well before the peak of my depression. But it's an interesting (if very, very disturbing!) insight into the mind of a depressed young person.
This is the only piece of writing I kept from those days. I must have liked it. I suppose I do still kinda like it. I hope you like it too. :-)
Dies Irae
...they fought. The ages passed and still they continued. Time was of no consequence, for theirs was an eternal battle. Rain fell and in the black of night, one man, alone, tried to conquer Death. Two figures dueling, distant and timeless. A cloaked shadow, Death, and a plain man, Life. The shadow bore no form- only being. Try as it might, the moon could not pierce the clouds. And so they fought in darkness. Swords clashed. Alone, they fought through the night- man against demon, light against shadow, Life against Death. The rain continued, yet the flames of their swords burnt the darkness- black fire of Death; white fire of Life. Both moved quickly. Life dancing, weaving, lunging. But all to no avail. Death knew the battle was won. The shadow feared nothing, for it was fear itself. Lightning flashed, black light of hell, Angels of Darkness. And then something happened that Death had not foreseen. Death shrieked and the battle was lost...
**********
...As he ran, spirits chanted. Hell's choir, Life's requiem. The cathedral, with its towering spires, stood tall in the night. Demons pranced and death was alive. But still he ran, chasing that which terrified him most. Only a vehement passion for life enabled him to chase Death. But Death was cunning. How cunning a plan to lead Life away from life and towards death. The city passed. The man was alone. Nothing protected Life from death. Surroundings of comfort gave way to bleak marshes. Shrouded in mist, these marshes were a playground for the lifeless. Only there did Death stop running and Life stop chasing. There they fought. The ages passed and still they continued...
**********
...A cry that severed the night, sending a fearful warning to those who dwelt in that unfortunate city. The man lay entranced in a hellish dream, for Death had touched his body. The fit ended, but he was truly dead. He was now in a nightmare world where darkness reigned and the minds of men were tortured. Spirit separated from body. Yet he still felt fear. But he knew his duty. The shapeless demon must be destroyed. The sword of life- burning, blazing. Blinding light compelled him. The man rose. Death fled. Life gave chase. As he ran, spirits chanted. Hell's choir...
**********
...Only down. He saw feet stripped of protection, pale white but for the blood that seeped from tears in the skin. His movements were erratic as he persisted through the rain- movements of a man haunted by fear itself. Darkness, heavy as death, enveloped his surroundings. He darted into a murky lane where shadows pranced in a celebration of the dead. The naked walls loomed over his beaten body. Eyes peered from heavenly windows as he splashed and parried towards an escape. He tripped. His body sprawled across the path, scarcely conscious. Blood flowed from his wounds in a steady stream, and seeped into the cracks in the ground. The rain hardened. Hair stuck to his face. Water ran into his ear, and across his hand. A door creaked high above and a family sat down to eat. Struggling to move, he looked up into the night sky, rain pounding on his eyes. Lightning exposed the darkness, revealing the shadow poised above its victim. There was no shape, only presence. Its eyes, mere slits in the formless face, penetrated his soul and he shrank, trembling. The cloaked figure swooped and, with arm outstretched giving definition to the amorphous body, shrieked. A cry that severed the night, sending a fearful warning...
**********
...Death was alive, a predator in the night, searching for that man. Oblivious, citizens walked the streets, hurriedly going about their business. Their only clue, a cloaked figure lingering in the dark, whispering in a serpent's voice as they scurried past. Not one of them could understand his harsh language, but all felt fear. It pierced their souls. None who heard it survived the night. The shadow continued- never stopping, never tiring. It glided through the night. No feet ever touched the ground. And still that man ran. He ran, but from what he did not know. He had shed the black coat that once covered his body. Its presence had disturbed him. Still he ran. No shoes, and little to cover his wet body. As he ran, stones cut and bruised his feet. Terror burned in his eyes, though others saw insanity. And still he ran. Finally, he rested, cold and bruised. Rain continued. A rag doll lay sodden on the ground, its limbs bent and deformed. A child's love, now trampled cruelly underfoot. From the shadows appeared the cloaked figure. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled... fear personified. To human eyes, there was no shape or colour to its face. Only two bright slits for eyes. Far away, the cathedral's bells tolled... Dies Irae. Their eyes met and the man fled. Death was his fear. He ran, looking neither forward nor backward. Only down. He saw feet stripped of protection...
**********
Far away, a man fled his nightmares. Shadowy images filled his thoughts. He ran through the rain. The shadows of darkness remained behind as he passed into the light. Yet his cloak smelt of death. His past filled with shadows of the dead, but he could not remember. Death was alive, a predator in the night...
**********
Death shrieked, and the battle was lost. Lightning cracked as the shadow of Death was pierced. Time faltered. Life and Death were connected as one. Storms raged and seas boiled. From inside the shadow, a light. Brighter and brighter. And then there was nothing. The cloak, the shadow, Death was no more. The man stood, silent and alone. Rain swept across the marshes. He fell, for he too had suffered a fatal wound. His mind slipped into darkness. His body followed. No longer did he possess any humanly shape- only being. Blackness surrounded his body. He was but a shadow, veiled by a dark robe. Death lived again...
2 Corinthians 6:14- ...for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?