Raped by Perdition: A Depression Story

I’m trapped.
It’s a sewage drain.  A cloaca.  I’m wedged in the middle.

Sometimes there is light peering through the shadows from above. I crawl slowly towards the top, then  the dirty-grime-shit-urine soaked water rushes through my intentions.

Holding my breath– aaaaaaaaaaaaaah. (Hold,hold,hold.)
My broken scarred body is flushed further from the light.
Going down, I will for the end – the cesspool. See, I told you this is your home, hell is your birthplace, and your burial.  

Then the drain pipe pins me to its sides as if to say “I won’t let you go.”

I’m stuck in a sewage drain pipe, an extrovert claustrophobic, and no one can find me. No one wanders through this kind of stink.

I

am

alone

in

perdition

and

can

not

escape.

 

Panting through my teeth, it sounds like a hurricane in my head.
My mind, frozen, bleeding…

I give…I give…I give…up…

Then the shadows wave above. I desire the light behind them, and crawl. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Please help.

It’s so tight. But there is hope – I move up toward the light. The light…the light…

Panicked with determination, one motion at a time… I’m closer… closer… almost there…you can…you can…you can…and without warning comes the rush… I am again flushed downstream – down down down with the shit-grime-urine-stain stain stain I am forever stained…

I long for the end – to enter the cesspool so this will stop and I won’t have breath to hold. Hell itself becomes my hope.

But the drain pipe cylinder tears my skin and pins my legs and arms and hips and neck to it’s cold slimy walls “I won’t let you go.” There is no movement, no room for even my anxiety. I am not allowed my anxiety. Where is my fucking anxiety.

I fade, fold into myself,

and am raped

all              over              again.