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There's no poetry in depression

There's no poetry in depression
No rhythms or rhymes in this place that's just
Not quite linear - nothing makes sense
but not poetic, no

There's repetitions
I learn what time the street lights switch off when I can't sleep
Not time by number but time by, I think that light's about to -
And there it goes
And the news on the radio every hour on the hour
how has an hour passed since the last hour
I just don't know

And repetition in a day spent the same way, only getting up to eat, not quite in sleep but just
For time to pass.
Then quickly.

We think there's poetry in it
In looking into the darkness
We like to say that it's being lost
and not waving but drowning

and I suppose there's poetry in everything
But this is mostly grey and always grim

Yes there's light, and there's images
But that's moreso the memories than the melancholia itself

I guess what I'm saying is it's a place dark and deep
but a place you'd never want to be
and a place not conducive to creativity
so no - to say they're linked so clearly doesn't sit well with me

Cling onto your hope and cling onto your art, to move you through
Because this isn't a place for you to stay

There's no poetry in depression

So, have hope, my dear

If this resonated with you at all, firstly - click that last link in the piece (that's the important bit.) Then have a little read of how I got through depression, and what the day to day experience of it was like for me.