Madame Depression: A Decloration

I feel her.

The whispers of her nails trace my back and suddenly my lungs search for air.

Her calculated approach commands the attention of each hair follicle behind my neck. The unwelcome chill is familiar. Her nails, they cut through my confidence. They penetrate through my skin to the depths of my spine. My tender nerves are hijacked by her touch.

She’s inside me now, working through my drive, my dreams, beyond my open veins, through my belly, up and down and back again, deeper still. My insides retreat against the tide of normal reasoning causing blankets of self-doubt to cover the room inside my head with hollow darkness.

She makes her haven in my heart but something pushes me to fight.

She cannot do this to me again.

With every ounce of willingness to breathe, I continue on. My trembling body, soaked with fear wants to unbuckle, but I hold on.

She cannot do this to me again.

It would be so easy to numb this ache but I know her better than to think I can mask her smile. No magic potions this time. She is raw and real and exquisitely perfect in every meticulous and dysfunctional way.

She feels my touch and believes she has won the battle in my brain, but the cloak of armor I bring this time is more powerful than her wretched plans for my demise.

You cannot do this to me again.

Breathing heavier now, I wait. My eyes are closed but my mind is open, allowing new thoughts, letting them take their time. As they find their seat inside my brain, she feels the shift and weight of my determination - and she knows.

She cannot do this to me again. I will win.