He kept coming back to me

Photo credit: Yener Ozturk on Unsplash

 My dark side

I was doing just fine. I was happy and enjoying my life. Until this one time . . . I was home, at peace, then suddenly I heard a sound . . . it was the sound of someone breaking into my home . . . it was a thief. He shamelessly broke in and began destroying everything his eyes could see . . . But he wasn’t there to just break things, he was there to steal – steal not just anything – but the most precious things, such as: joy, peace, love, dreams, hope, and purpose. He stole them like a pro and I felt helpless . . . every time I tried to fight him and take back what he stole from me, he’d fight back and push me away . . . I fought so hard. I fought with tears and with every scar, but I couldn’t save the precious things . . . I lost and I hated it.

After the war that happened in my home, it felt so empty. The sound of joy disappeared, the light of love was shut down and sense of peace completely disappeared. I was hopeless. My home didn’t feel the same anymore. It was dark, cold and hollow. And the broken things remained . . . there was no light shining to help me see where the broken pieces where. And I had no strength to collect the broken pieces. I stayed on the ground . . . days and nights passed by, slowly, I started getting back up and regaining my strength. I felt fragile, but I chose to not give up because I had been down for so long. I wasn’t getting anywhere, and my home remained the same. But when I stood on my feet, I decided to change the way my home looked and felt . . . I meant now that I was finally up, I could move things and change them.

I began the work in my home, but it wasn’t easy, I had to begin from zero. Days and nights passed by, my home looks and feels better . . . not the same as before but getting there. It was all calm and smooth until . . . until the thief broke into my home again. I fought him hard, but he had more power than I did. Thrown into the ground, my head hits the ground hard, and I went into coma for a few weeks. I was alive but everything else felt numb. I was breathing, my heart was beating, but my senses and feelings died. My eyes fell asleep and my ears shut their door so they couldn’t hear any sound. Life was moving forward, but it wasn’t so for me. For me, time was passing, and the days were flying, but I was partly dead.

Few weeks later, I got my consciousness back. I woke up, I could see, I could feel and I could hear again. I was brought back to life and I felt alive. So, I got back up, though I felt dizzy, but I held on to a broken table that was close to me. I tried not to put pressure because it wasn’t strong enough to hold me completely.

I began fixing my home again but then half way through I was exhausted, I was tired and I had enough.  I was like “screw this, I am not gonna bother myself, the thief is coming back again”. And I was right . . . unfortunately. Few weeks later the thief showed up again, and you know what? This time I wasn’t even surprised. I didn’t fight back. I just sat there watching him break and steal things again. Because what is the point of fighting back when I get defeated every single time? I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was fragile.

This was an ongoing war for months and months. Every time, I got my strength back, filled my home with joy, peace and love, the thief would break in and steal. He knew, these things were the most precious and that is why he stole them.

One day . . . when he came back, mercilessly, I chose to face him. I screamed, I cried and I fought him so hard, he fought back, but I refused to be defeated this time. This time it wasn’t my end, it was his end. It was a tough battle. Though he had more power, but I was stronger than him. Because though I was fragile, I won. I ended him. Though my hands were scarred and bruised, but it was worth it.

He no longer is going to break into my home again. He is gone. Do you want to know his name? you are probably familiar with him . . . he is called depression. This is what depression’s aim is, it is to destroy us. But we are strong because true strength is found within us. You’ve got this.

Author's note: This piece is written metaphorically. The “home” represents my self. The “thief” represents depression.

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