I've never felt that depression was the demon inside of me. I can't say for sure whether other people living with major depression, or anxiety, or C-PTSD feel that their diagnoses and conditions are separate entities/energies inside of them or not. I don't. That's all I can say for sure.
All of these things that are fundamentally wrong with my brain-juice are part of me. I hear them in my own voice. I feel them with my own mind and body. They are part of me, not the demon inside. I've seen many a motivational poster or comic or short story or poem that talks about befriending these internal demons and putting them to work for you. So maybe that is how most people see it. I can only see myself.
So I turn to the actual demon inside. My burning, righteous, rage.
Now that's a demon inside. That rage and that... indignation... seems to be a nearly inexhaustible well. It feels like a pool of magma just below the surface. The hot spring flashes of quick and over temper are the merest hint at the power underneath. It's inhuman. It's indomitable.
It's the only thing keeping me alive.
This is alchemy of anger. This is taking everything that wants to slow me down, encase me in the ice of apathy and depression, or drag me down into the black pit where nothing and nowhere makes any sense anymore and incinerating it in the heat of this raging core. Calcination by fury. Circulation by spite.
Is it healthy? Well, probably not. But it's healthier than suicide, which is a constant whisper when I allow the flames of the fury to die down in my mind.
Calcination by fury. Remember that. And trust the beast. Beasts know how to survive.
No comments:
Post a Comment