Do you ever get the feeling that you’re being followed? It was days before I noticed. Before I let myself look out of the corner of my eye. Something I have avoided due to the sheer fright that comes with it. But what I saw was not what I expected. When you picture someone that can stealth around in such a way that it’s almost poetic; yet brings so much danger with them, the image you get is of a tall hooded figure with bumps and lumps and repulsive aromas leaking from every pore and every pasty skin cell. You imagine blazing red eyes threatening to cut you in half with a single glance.
You imagine a monster.
Definitely not this…..not her.
I remember the first day I ever saw her. It was the first time I allowed myself to see. She had hair like waves at midnight that crashed around her delicate, pale shoulders. She was truly beautiful. The kind of girl every guy wants but can never have. The kind of girl every girl strives to be, in whatever she decides to do. Stealing glances whenever you dare, I would gaze into her Matt black eyes; have you ever noticed the slight flecks of gold?
Distantly recalling the first time I noticed them I came out of the disgustingly overwhelming odorous cubicle. There she was. I could smell her perfume. It smelt like Jasmine and vanilla with a hint of something putrid. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul; this girls eyes are more like a brick wall. You can stare however long you like, will the wall to crumble but there it will stand unwavering. When she looks at you, you feel naked in a way that leaves your core reaching for a towel desperately trying to make sense of this unexpected vulnerability. Dressing like a dark, Victorian angel. All black, all the time.
You could wear the exact same thing and feel you don’t compare in any way to this gothic goddess. She’s there when you feel the dark cloud engulfing you in its toxic fumes.
She whispers in your ear, everything that strips away your humanity. Every repressed memory, every regretful secret, anything and everything you’ve ever done, she knows. It’s as though she will never be satisfied until your broken and then ground into such a fine powder that the slightest autumn breeze will sweep you into the very realm of darkness she slithered out from. And as your you’re drifting into nothingness you finally hear her name.
The thing everyone hides “ Depression”.
Depression.the word that has the ability to send shivers up and down your spine in the same way an ice cold bucket of water would. Water so cold that the moment it makes contact with your skin you can feel thousands of little daggers attempting to break through the solid force field desperately trying to freeze your insides.
As powerful as as it may be it’s only as strong as you allow it to be. Nothing is perfect.
It’s no secret that it has an amazing ability to to get around anyone without anyone noticing but it trips over its own feet….it slips up and tumbles down.
So yes I remember the day I met her, but I also remember the day she fell and I rose. The day I no longer let her tower over me offering support but only giving me a cold blanket fir me me to wrap my frozen body in. At times she fades, at times she becomes vivid but she’s always there and that I can’t control. Not yet.
Nothing is inevitable..Share