There is an ache within my soul that is unceasing.
It’s nestled, no bigger than a fist, in the center of my chest where each side of my rib cage meets.
No manner of deep breathing, Zen study or psychological analysis can lessen its chronic throb. No mantra, no medication, no light-hearted comedy can erode its compressed sorrow.
It is a black hole.
It is an open wound.
Longing, but for what it will not say.
It screams, “I WANT!!!” twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week but then neglects to tell me the most crucial detail of its cry: the what.
It will not tell me what it wants.
I have spent the better part of this year trying to uncover the secret to this beast’s desire. Thrashing and snapping, it tears at the flesh within my center, writhing in tantrum, all the while screaming,”I WANT! I WANT!!”.
I beg and I beseech. I try to make it see reason. I ignore it until I’m sure I’ll go mad.
The monster’s pace never slows. It affords me not even an ears’ prick in attention. It simply paces and lashes and screams.
This creature is my depression. It is a parasite, alive within me…and its pattern of infestation has made clear its target: It wants me.
It wants me, and not just me in my entirety – it wants to conquer each piece, bit by bit, until all semblance of the entity titled Amara ceases to exist. It wants my productivity, my libido, my sense of self, my desire to exist, my passion, my appetite, my hopes and dreams – this invader would have me waste away inside a locked room under a cloud of down blankets and sadness.
However, with the fresh breeze that is the coming of a new year, a decision has been made.
This devil shall not have me.
Daily, slowly, consistently – my cells will reconfigure to manufacture immunity. Purposefully, gently, encouragingly – my thoughts will learn to self-purify.
Forgiveness will flow through my veins as understanding pumps through my heart.
Compassion will flourish in my gut while sparks of creativity travel across my freed mind and scatter out to my fingertips.
Amara will be her own cure; and through this darkness…she will be the dawn.
Mars, signing out. ◊