The light of day, fresh air, a witness –
this is what depression requires
if it is to be quelled.
It cannot be hidden in a box
or it will become a bloody crime
with victims and postmortems.
The innocent questions of a child,
the probing queries of a mother,
the tactful inquiry of a friend
can coax it out of hiding,
can reveal the troubled core,
can then offer soothing words.
Exposure is a necessity,
for if silence reigns,
the nasty secret dies with its keeper.
Author’s Note: I was recently remembering my own periods of deep depression. I am one of the lucky ones (unlike my son) who has made it to mid-life, a survivor of depression’s ravages. It’s been due to a combination of factors including on-again-off-again therapy, ditto with meds, learning that exercise and eating right help, not isolating when the impulse is to do just that, loving myself (finally!), and last but not least, talking and writing and sharing my darkest shadow parts so that others (who have loved me and cared) could at least shine a tiny bit of light on the matter at hand to prove there was more than just darkness there.
On Another Note: I just realized these last 3 blog posts have been poetry! I’ve never thought of myself as a poet – I still don’t – but for some reason, this is what has wanted to show up on the page, and who am I to argue? The Muse ordains; I yield.