Dear depression,

I wish you could see the view from here.

It’s not so high as it is grand,

because, broken mortal that I am,

I have not reached the top.

It’s quite stunning,

in a calming, relieving, beautiful way,

on the other side of the valley.

You hate me, I know,

for in some ironic way,

I hate you too but

have fallen in love with your lies.

You convince me that failure

marks my future with certainty;

and, apparently,

guilt is a weapon of choice for you.

Not that it’s unfounded –

I know I’m not enough.

And my walls to the outside world

are caving in upon me

because they were forged with darkness.

A failing fortress can provide no strength;

a solid one, all of it.

So I suppose you and I

must consider this shell of a home

abandoned.

And I am learning

“I can face what I hate”

is not so powerful as

“I can face what hates me” –

because of Love.

 

Dear anxiety,

You’re afraid to trust people

because people have hurt you.

But you have not disarmed me –

I have hurt myself

because I trusted you.

You tell me,

“People say they love you

and then, in the end, they fall.

They leave.”

And perhaps all that is true.

Perhaps, that is why,

when you turn a white face towards me,

liquid fear melting from terrified eyes,

I say, shaking, that I cannot help you.

I am turning my back to you

for the last time

so that you will look beyond me

to Someone who can

and will

never fall,

never leave,

never abandon me

– to brave your lonely storm alone,

Who will never give up on me.