Depression: A Freight Train of Shit

In July 2018, this-thing-which-shall-not-be-named, barreled into MeTown by way of a freight train. It ignored the sound ordinance signs and blasted its horn as it raced down the tracks of my life. It never slowed its speed. It plowed over me. Into me. Blindsided me. Left me laying in the middle of the tracks, crumpled and confused. A literal train wreck. As I pulled the sheet of denial up over my head, I retreated. I ran. I hid. The rest of the world moved on, but I slipped into the past. Tumbled deep into the well of despair. Dark, murky, and stagnant, my days creeped along at a nauseating crawl. Nightmares plagued my fitful nights. Exhaustion dictated my brain. I was tired. So. Damn. Tired. Still unwilling to give this thing a name, I fought back. Everyday, I forced myself to leave the safety of my covers. I stood under the scalding waters, attempting to rinse away the despair. "You have no business here," I'd say, and visually imagine it disappearing into the drain. I dressed in my let's-get-shit-done clothing. I showed up at my workspace. Somedays, I'd actually get shit done. Others, I'd sit, staring. Hoping. Wanting. On those days, I'd crawl back into bed and sleep. On those days, I nestled under the covers and drifted into a restful slumber. Like vampires, nightmares are repelled by daylight. They can't feed upon your fears. They can't drain you of life. Unbeknownst to me, the allure of sneaking back into bed only worsened this-thing-which-shall-not-be-named. It dragged me deeper into the inky blackness. It licked its lips, devouring my soul. Its enchanting spell took hold. I isolated myself. Ignored the phone. Turned down invitations. And, when confronted, I lied. Denied. Pulled the cloak and veil around myself. To most, I was a poser of happiness. To a limited few, I allowed my shield to be lowered, not by choice, but out of sheer submission. Their persistent love willed me back to awareness. Lifted me up. Held my hands. And, assisted me into giving a title to this-thing-which-shall-not-be-named. This freight train filled with shit, which continues its ruthless battle is called, depression.