For the (fictional) series, "Edges".
Her Voice
The Interloper
Her Voice
The Interloper
It's a green day, a blue day, a golden day,
a day of Spring, a day for walking by the canal
and picking daisies. But I observe it
from behind my curtains. This happens
from time to time, with little warning.
There isn't a map for this inner landscape –
this particular inner landscape, which seems
to come from somewhere outside. It rams its way
into my brain, so the usual interior scenery
turns black, bleak, stormy. I wait it out. I hide.
My curtains are thick. My door is locked from inside.
On other days I'd fancy a walk through the fields
to the banks of the canal; the child in me would like
to sit on the ground and pick daisies. Nothing sad
need intrude ... but today I close my curtains,
"Haven't you got sick of this nonsense?"
I accost this Other in my head. It responds
with frightening commands. Lacking, suddenly,
the will or fortitude to oppose them, I try for escape –
reading, sleep – rather than follow that path to madness.
I am thankful I've never suffered from clinical depression, but I've known a number of people who have, beginning with my mother when I was a child, so I trust this fictional account is authentic.
Linked to Curtain Falls at "imaginary garden with real toads".
This is such a heartwrenching poem, Rosemary! To be so young and exposed to such circumstances is difficult indeed. My heart cried at the closing line; "I try for escape –reading, sleep – rather than follow that path to madness."
ReplyDeleteYes, that last bit rings true.
ReplyDeleteA very vivid write Rosemary. How well you have lent the Curtain prompt to methapor
ReplyDeleteThanks for dropping by to read mine
much love.
I, too, have been part of the live of someone who live with clinical depression, and I think you captured the frustration just so. The constant battle...
ReplyDeleteYes, you have nailed it. I am watching someone in the grip of this right now, her world has become so small and dark. You have captured it exactly.
ReplyDeleteSome days, I too wish to remain behind thick curtains.
ReplyDelete"my curtains" ... we really do all have them.. nice metaphor
ReplyDeleteGorgeously written and thought out. I wear my own invisible curtain many days.
ReplyDeleteVery good Rosemary: sensitive, perceptive and well-crafted ... from one who has suffered from the "black dog" (and recovered) :)
ReplyDeleteI suffer from clinical depression and felt this poem deeply. Sigh. Sometimes the curtains have to remain tightly closed
ReplyDeleteI suffered a horrible depression at nineteen. I battled the darkness that set up camp in my mind until thankfully light came to disperse it.
ReplyDeleteNice Write, Rosemary. It helped be a little to know the situations depressed people endure. There was a little of the Alice in Wonderland craziness on the lines.
ReplyDelete..
Thanks to all for the confirming comments.
ReplyDeleteYou capture the essence of depression fantastically - I can certainly relate
ReplyDeleteHow well you wrote this Rosemary, a sympathetic piece that many will relate to.
ReplyDeleteThis is a chilling image... I would hate to feel like that, but I do see the image clear of shutting everything out.
ReplyDeleteYes, sometimes we get the instructions, from somewhere unknown...we wait it out. xoxo
ReplyDeletewow! very sad, a life framed in pathos but still there are days when hope peeps through the curtains, maybe tomorrow she can go out. Maybe.
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