Darkness In My Light

The lows have been too low for the past two weeks. I have dragged myself out of bed every morning and have run my days like a zombie. Like the ground isn’t capable of holding my weight, I have lain down from being lightheaded. My functionality has been at the bare minimum, unable to stretch, my concentration is like that of a 5 year old, only difference play was off the table.

The dreaded moment is here; close to three years of sanity seem to be slamming the door at my face. Walls are carving in and everything in me is just exhausted, stretched beyond comfort. I had a depression relapse and it’s all coming back, a feeling I don’t wish even for the least of my friends. Its slow and draining, capturing you from the blues, when you least expect and takes away all the will power and zeal for life.

I’ve dubbed myself a depression survivor for a long time because, for as long as I haven’t had a relapse, it seemed as a thing of the past. Sometimes, the past creeps back in the dead of night and engulfs my entire being. Making me doubt if I was ever well to start with. My joints are sore, hands weak and legs can no longer hold my weight, they have given in to the weight of the world.

With the physical bodily strain, I hoped against all hope that that is all it was, a physical illness. Malaria was my closest bet. Malaria does this too, it can make your muscles feel sore but the female anopheles mosquito hasn’t gotten to me this time. I made it but was instead caught out by the darkness. The dark cloud covered my head and stopped me from moving, from seeing the beauty that is life.

You think there’s stigma surrounding some physical ailments, wait till you meet people conversing about someone dealing with a mental illness. The undertones, the side eye look and the emotive smile tells it all. The victims have to deal with the fact that their bodies have given up on them under the weight of the harsh world.

Adele's "Should I give up or just keep chasing pavements, even if leads nowhere.” Is the song on replay. I choose to keep chasing, to live.

I am still hopeful that I’ll see a brighter day, a day when the ache and the pain will be long gone, when concentrating will no longer be an uphill task. When I’ll no longer feel the need to isolate myself, when my feeding and sleeping patterns will be consistent and predictable. If and when this day will not come, I have peace in my soul and know that it shall be well.