They say that loss is part of life.
OK, I can get that. I can wrap my head around that…sort of.
The problem comes when I start to try and wrap my heart around that. And then things just do not compute. Do. Not. Compute.
To lose a person that you love, it kills you a little bit. A lot. I know, I’ve been there. You just try to understand how things happen. Why things happened. How things could’ve gotten so bad. How could he betray you?
HOW?
It echoes in your head until you just want to scream. You’ll do anything to block it out.
I know, I’ve been there.
It’s not fun. It’s actually a hellish ordeal. It’s that bone sadness that you cannot shake. The kind that seeps beyond the tears into your heart and your bones and you’d just give anything to just make it stop. You become tired. You are past the point of sadness. Sleep is what you crave, sleep is what you need. Sleep is welcome. Sleep is a savior.
I know, I’ve been there.
Depression is like this black abyss that just takes you in. It clings to you. It covers you in its thick blankets and does not want you to come up for air.
I know, I’ve been there.
But, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise you, that at one point, that thick blanket starts to thin, and streams of light start coming through. They prod you to cling to something else, something better, and something greater.
When that blanket starts to smother you, let those that love you lie next to you. Let them be your shoulder to lean on, let them catch the tears that fall, and yes, the tears will fall.
But it’s OK; I promise it’s OK.
There are people there who love you. There are people that will bring you up. Know that you do not deserve the pain; you do not deserve the darkness…
You deserve the love. All of it. Every single piece of it.
Promise me you’ll never apologize for the depression. Promise. I know that you’re not doing it for attention, you’re not doing with intention…you can’t control it. You wouldn’t wish the cold numbness on your worst enemy.
I know, I’ve been there.
But….
Promise me you’ll take the hands that come to help. Promise me you’ll lean so that you don’t fall. Promise me you’ll cry, so that you may begin to heal.
Promise me that.
Megan Minutillo is a writer, playwright, director, and teacher living in New York. Her most recent plays have been presented at the Manhattan Repertory Theatre in NYC, and she continues to direct productions for the Young American Writers Project, of Stony Brook Southampton University. Megan is the founder of The Write Teacher, an interactive website bringing you the latest and greatest in books, television, film, theatre, & education. Like, follow, & pin with The Write Teacher, and tweet with Megan here.
