Foreword: This piece is simply written from a place of anger deep within me. A place of frustration and confusion about why I am part of the 1 in 4 statistics regarding depression. I hate talking about it because I bore myself when I hear myself speaking about it. As if I have to justify it to others. Almost justify it to myself and give it permission to exist. I feel like I should be apologising for this condition which like a dormant volcano will inexplicably erupt..and then be dormant once more. This piece is trying to put into words how my head feels during an episode.

Need to implode, need to explode It's all the same to me Resulting in freedom From all that I've come to be..

I hear it shout, I hear it call Thumping on my door I'm back again, it's your statistic Your demon, 1 in 4..

Inward self hatred Is my daily bread Head so numb, I can't even run Colour only red..

What have I become? As days pass me by Bitter self hatred Don't even know how to cry..

Emotions are trapped In a whirlwind of fear Wind so cold Has frozen the tears..

Only escape is 7 hours in slumber Sometimes disturbed By the noise of mental thunder..

Forgetting how to cope Seems the order of the day Blind to the obvious Lost my way..

But the sunlight of redemption Burns in my soul Charred depression smokes You won't play the starring role..

For despite the darkness And what you do to me I'll break these shackles I'll run, be free...

(©) Dom Giddy 2020