My Love Affair With Depression
I am addicted to him.
He touches my body and I can’t move.
I’m anxious, tense and stuck..
I am obsessed with him.
He feels good on top of me.
His presence consumes me.
He holds me and we begin foreplay.
First, a gentle kiss to get me in the mood.
And then all of a sudden from out of nowhere, he blows my mind wide open. I forget the world for the slightest moment. And I am consumed with my own pleasure. The pleasure of which is pain as well. But I am distracted and that’s all that matters.
Before I know it, he lies in my bed.
And he cuddles me. Strangely I feel comfortable. Safe. Secure.
It feels wrong but at the same time he feels so good.
He is no good for me but I want more of him.
I don’t want him to leave but I suffer having him around.
Tonight, and all the nights before this, he has not just taken my body, he has also torn my soul and broken my spirit.
I let him. I practically begged him to.
The more I lie in bed with him, the more I cannot let go. The more I fall harder in love with him.
He falls soundly asleep by my side, close to me, while I lie awake with all these thoughts running through my head, still aroused by what happened.
How will it be like tomorrow?
Will he leave me?
Will anyone want me now?
How did I end up like this?
Am I good enough?
Was I ever good at all?
Can anyone ever even look at me and see the chaos that is me?
I have whored myself out to him.
And yet he feels like he is the only one who wants me.
He is the only one who can stand to be with me.
He makes me feel I am wanted and unwanted all at the same time.
He warms my bed but freezes my heart.
He gives me a high but makes me feel at my lowest.
He is by experience every bit big, unconquerable even; leaving me always feeling small.
I bare my soul open but everything else remain closed.
I look into its half-opened eyes with my own filled with tears, void of any life. Searching for hope.
Will I make it through the night?
Am I strong enough to break this destructive pattern?
Will I remain in bondage to him?
He wakes and we do this again. And again. Again and again. This goes on for the rest of the night into the early hours of the morning. Again. Again and again until my body is exhausted. And my mind is restless. I’m spent. I’m used. And all I can think of is that’s OK. It will be easier to fall asleep now.
I tell myself another night with him won’t hurt. At least I wont be alone. He can have me. Tomorrow, I will ask him to make love to me again. And as always, he will fall short of the passion I am looking for — but deliver just enough to make me want more and still leave me feeling empty.
I lie here. Alone, but not exactly. He lies with me: fast asleep once again, still and motionless. I am weak under his spell. I have given in. I have given all. His face is a losing battle.
I close my eyes tight, turn the other way around and tell myself maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow I will be stronger.
But for tonight I will let him hold me close. And this is enough.
Tomorrow. Maybe. Tomorrow. I will try again.
(His name is Depression and mine, Cheeny. And every night this is our love affair.)
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