I still see you sometimes, lurking behind the shadows. Observing me. Abandoning you wasn’t easy. You held me captive for so long I identified with you. What do they call it Stockholm syndrome? You had this bittersweet taste, which I started liking. But I always heard this voice inside my head telling me you weren’t real. Telling me, I am living in an illusion- illusion of death. Telling me there was life inside me. You are good at what you do. I have to give you credit for that. I started believing I was dead except that I wasn’t and that’s a different kind of death. It’s like being suspended in a vacuum; Numb.
I had to shatter all the mirrors adorning your walls. Mirrors that showed me my image- broken; slowly dissolving into dust. I had to gather little pieces of me, drag myself out of the despair you engulfed me with. I had to.
You were my demon. You were my fight, to fight.
I still see you sometimes in the broken shards of those mirrors which lay unceremoniously on the ground. The walls are gone now. I can see what wasn’t visible before. I breathe a different air now; air more alive.
A short account on dealing with depression.