Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, -
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.
No, I don't feel like that, thank God! But what a great poem - what a powerful, right-on-the-head description of depression. "My thoughts are slow and brown" - I remember exactly what that feels like. And I remember thinking/feeling/being dead certain that this would never change.
The Spanglemonkey says, "You have no idea how close you are to being in one of these beds. No idea. It’s looming just out of your sight always", but I think I have a pretty good idea. It's right there in my peripheral vision - even more so now that I've been reading her dispatches from Fnord -, and it scares the crap out of me. I am very aware of the fact that it's sheer luck and happy coincidences that I am out here in the ... I almost called it "the real world", but it's not, is it?
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