A/N: Week 34. A story about loneliness.
There are times where he thinks he’ll be all right. He hopes that one day when he smiles at the postman or at the coffee man, he’ll actually mean it. He wishes for the light he sees in his boyfriend’s eyes. But he knows that these are empty dreams. The dark hole he’d feared as a child, one that had taken his mother, had finally caught up to him. And it would consume him.
His doctor tries to help him. She prescribes him with medication; he sees a therapist every week and has a home team that comes to visit him, especially after the suicide attempt a month back. He pretends that he is okay, that his shattered heart is not slowly piercing his skin, that his soul hasn’t been ripped from his body, that he doesn’t feel alone. He tries. He tries so damn much.
But nothing works.
Depression is not like a common cold, it cannot be fixed with some medication and warm drinks. It is a vortex, a cruel and bitter wasteland that pulls you in, drowns you, traps you, until all you know is that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach – until the light in your heart has gone and nothing seems worth it. Waking up is a chore and passing out is a blessing, the world seems meaningless and the people around you cannot help. Depression is a vice that seeks to keep those affected by it stuck in a pool of poison ivy, as it slowly begins to tighten, like a snake wrapping itself around its prey. Until all life has been sucked out of you, and then it strikes and devours you whole.
And that’s when you let go and this world ceases to exist.
He is surrounded by people he loves. He falls asleep in the arms of his boyfriend. He visits his father and sister. His best friend lives a road away from him. He used to love his job. But now, nothing matters. Nothing seems important.
His heart has been broken beyond repair.
There is no warmth here. No love, no freedom, no creativity, no independence – there is nothing. A bleak landscape that stretches on for miles, with no end, no life and he is the lone traveler. He is the only one, screaming to the heavens, begging them to help him.
They never do.
The sad fact of it all is that he had believed once. That God would help him, that praying would help him, and that there was a force out there to protect him – he had long since stopped believing in such tales.
After all, fairy tales are for children.