The Garden of My Life: A Poem on Depression


Depression plants itself within me
without warning,
It flourishes,
Without water, without sun,
Without a second thought to the lump in my throat.

It’s a weed that trips me up
In the garden of my life
I fall hard in the dirt,
And it weaves and winds its way through me,
ensnaring any hope or joy or faith it can find.

I panic.
I scramble
desperate to halt the growth.
This toxic weed spares no mercy
Invading the terrain of my life

Seedlings of hope are carefully tended to
Watered with tears,
My tears, my parents’ tears, my partner’s tears.
But we all know that
flowers don’t survive floods

So we get down on our knees
And yank it out of the ground
Sweat pouring down our brows
Knees stained from the dirt
It feels good to do something

Yet it grows back twice as fast
And I don’t recognize this garden
So we pull in the professionals
Who stop and stare at the damage
They tell us what we know

There is not a way
To kill the weed
Yet keep the flowers
So I lie down in the ruins
And pray

I used to be a garden
Of sunshine and laughter and the sort of flowers that bloom all year round.
I need to change my metaphor soon
Or I’ll lay down my trough
And I’m not ready for that yet

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