It’s an endless circle, like living inside a cylinder. Move far enough, the scenery changes. But the cycle stays the same. The cycle always stays the same.
I looked in the mirror two days ago, and the black hole was there again. I know. I know. It comes and it goes. Some days it’s there. Some days it’s not. It’s like demons, not real, even though it would simplify everything if it was.
“What do I call you?” I stared into the black holes that were my eyes in the mirror. As I stared, my mind repainted the image in the mirror to show an endless cylinder. As I walked along the path in the cylinder, the seasons changed. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. As they changed, so did the light in the cylinder, as did the weather, and the scenery.
“Ha. Never thought of that before, have I.” It was not the first time I made the connection between the seasons and my depression, but it was the first time the picture was so clear. And it explained why I listed the seasons as Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter.
Spring, because that was my recovery time. That was when my depression, my winter, ended. That was when, like the trees, and the flowers, I came back to life.
Summer, because that was when I was my best. When I was happy. When I got things done. When everything worked.
Fall, because that was when I started my fall back into my depression.
And Winter, when my Depression was at full strength, and blew cold, bitter winds through my existence, and filled my life with ice.
Maybe it’s more like a cylinder that’s like the Earth. So big, you think it’s flat, but as you walk, you eventually end up almost where you started, because the Earth is roundish. Not perfectly round, but close enough.
A circle then, made from a cylinder. And carefully positioned, so that no matter how fast I go, no matter if I stop walking, or keep going, always the seasons happen. Always the depression happens.
Like how the seasons on Earth happen. Even if you don’t move. Even if you stay in the same place for an entire year.
I looked into the mirror once again, at the black holes where my eyes were supposed to be. “It’s OK. I know you won’t last. All I have to do is be patient, and wait.”
It was inevitable. If I waited, the seasons would change. The last of fall would fade into winter. And winter, though it might be awful, would be followed by spring. As it always had been. As it always would be.
And the cycle would start over.
“I guess my job is to learn to live with the seasons, isn’t it. And recognize them for what they are. And how, just like the demons, they’re all part of me.”
Oh, the seasons might be real. But the seasons in that circle made from a cylinder, where I lived? Those were not real. Those were part of me. Like the demons weren’t real, but were part of me. The dark thoughts I had. The anger. The rage.
My seasons were the same. Part of me.
“I can learn to live with that.”
549 words
@mysoulstears
Written for Week 267 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can learn about Miranda’s challenge here. The stories people share for the weekly challenge are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. Please go read them.
My Soul's Tears 