Potential for Escape

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

There is a strong case for associating depression with the weather, especially here in the UK, not renowned for its sunshine. The sad truth is that any of us can fall victim to depression any time, anywhere. It is usually the result of various tensions that life has a nasty habit of laying like animal traps for us to fall into. We feel isolated, threatened, scared and - perhaps worst of all - helpless.

Breaking free is never easy and will take time. Whenever it (frequently) happens to me I struggle to take my cue from that old truism, ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’. The first giant step, of course is recovering that will; the next, finding the way, then we need to stick at it, no matter what.

It’s never easy. There are no quick fixes. Anti-depressants, counselling/ therapy...these can help along with (even more important) the support and understanding (and patience) of family and friends. Sadly, too few people have much understanding of depression unless they have been depressed themselves or are close to someone else who is prone to depression. Far too many run a mile from mental health matters.

Society could and should do more to promote Mental Health Awareness. Yes, where there’s a will, there really IS a way….but it’s down to us.

Someone recently asked why I often write about depression in my poems as it is such a depressing subject! Well, apart from trying to raise Mental Health Awareness, writing positively about depression helps me beat the frequent bouts from which I continue to suffer.

Many years ago, I began the long, slow, painful climb out of a nervous breakdown.  I swore I would never hit rock bottom again. If  just one poem can help prevent just one person descending to that same pit's stone slab bottom, it will have been worth the writing.

POTENTIAL FOR ESCAPE

I lie in a pit staring up at the sky,
wondering if cloud faces passing by
can see my lips move (no sound)
might even let someone know where
to find me, so cold, frightened,
unable to move, every limb refusing
to answer frantic screams for help
from a mind whose live connections
all but severed by its distress

Clinging on to a failing willpower,
I feel my frail grasp slipping in this,
what must surely be my coffin?
Yet, it’s not my past I see unfolding
before my eyes, only blank sheets
of paper…slowly coming to life, words
I can’t quite make out but vaguely
recognize shapes comprising a prose
and poetry ascribed to nature

All my eyes cannot see, my heart
begins to acknowledge as the words
(now bombarding all my senses)
demand entry at the doors of a mind
shut by fear and excuses, forcing
it ajar, piling in like old friends arriving
at a reunion, figures in clouds
assuming human form, Earth Mother
resolving to be kind but firm

Hostage, seeking to break free (again)
from a dark prison called depression

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010