breakfast

Depression is a thief. Cunning and wretchedly beautiful. She smiles sweetly at you, refilling your tea and telling you how the color of your dress brings out your eyes. Depression is a thief but first she is a friend. “Darling,” she says, “you seem so tired. Would you care to set your joys down for awhile?”

“No, no. Not my joys. It is not my joys that weigh me down but my burdens.”

“Ah, that’s alright, dear,” she pats your hand, “Just thought I’d ask.”

She changes the subject cheerfully but when your back is turned she places a stone in your bag. Not too large, but enough to make the dull ache in your shoulders a little louder, a little sharper at the end of the day.

It goes on in this way for some time. She asks the same question and you continue to shake your head. At times you feel perturbed with her insistence, but you know she is just concerned for your well-being.

The bag grows heavier still.

One morning she notices your strain appears great. She pulls you in a warm, tight embrace and tells you softly, “Tomorrow I will come to your house. There is no need for you to make your way here when you are so, so very tired.”

She is kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.

“Good morning darling, you seem so tired. Would you care to set down your joys for awhile?”

“No, no. Not my joys but my burdens.”

“Good morning darling, you seem so tired. Would you care to set down your joys for awhile?”

“No, no. Not my joys but my burdens.”

“Good morning darling, you seem so tired. Would you care to set down your joys for awhile?”

“No, no. I keep telling you – not my joys but my burdens.”

“Perhaps, my dear, they are one in the same? Something to think about. I’ll leave you be now. Get some rest.”

The next morning you wake to find her by your bedside. Sunlight streams through the curtains and glows golden across her cheekbones. “Good morning, darling. It is time now. You know this, don’t you?”

You have barely the energy to nod. You know now. Your joys are burdens, too. And you are so, so very tired. What else can you do but let her gather them up from your limp hands, fatigued from gripping with white knuckles for far too long.

“There now. I’ll hold on to these for you, just for a little awhile.” She tucks them into her bag and stands to leave. Before walking out the door she brushes the unruly, unwashed hair from your face and gently kisses your forehead. “Get some rest,” she whispers and is gone.

How lucky you are, to have such friends.

One thought on “breakfast

  1. She use to really feel for me. She would always remember my brand of smokes & leave me a new lighter, like any true friend would.
    If you see her, will you tell her, I painted her stones & made a rock garden. I don’t smoke any more and I’m not so sleepy any more.

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