snowtrees_bonfadini_960This was written by the person who
was at the vista point  a week ago
last Friday  and who was released
from the hospital this last Thursday.


Cold stark white walls.  Doors with no locks.
Windows that do not open. Shoes with no laces.
Nurses scurrying up and down hallways with medications in tow.
Faint screams from the corner.
Its approximately 4 steps from my bed to the bathroom.
8 steps from my bed to the door that leads to the chaos of a locked psych unit.
I lay curled up as tightly as possible over one non fitted sheet and under one blue blanket.
I am cold.
I am scared.
Darkness has descended upon me for just about a month.
My trust worthy psychiatrist opts for an additional medication, to which I am resistive at first.
Some irrational thought has taken stage that 3 medications deems me crazy and possibly truly depressed.
I continue to hold on to the notion that if I do nothing about this episode of depression,
because I truly do have Major Depression,
then it will simply fade into the background and my smile and spunk will reappear.
However, if my history is an indicator, which it most certainly is,
doing nothing is a death sentence.
I cannot pretend to not know how I landed here.
Wicked voices intrude upon my mind at random intervals,
but with enough punch for me to believe I have no strength against them.
As painful as it is to reveal,
my very own mind was searching and plotting for my demise.
Depression is real.
For me, its like a snake wrapping itself around my being.
Seductive as it slithers, round and round.
Smooth and powerful it takes hold.
With each pass, it eats away at my soul
and fills me with self hatred.
Light dissipates.  I lose my voice.
Heaviness embodies my limbs.
Shame pulses in my veins.
Strangled by the sheer raw power of depression,
I succumb.
wolf yosemite 2009 Mt Shasta to Oak street 217It is better to seek forgiveness than permission

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