Why Won’t It Go Away?

Anyone who has been depressed may recognise themselves in this, a poem I began that typically expanded into something broader. 

WHY WON’T IT GO AWAY? 

Every morning I empty my cup of sorrow and grief, and by evening it fills up again. An unending source of sadness replenishes me relentlessly. Why won’t it go away? 

Tears overflow, the cup cannot hold, and grief is ever present, unwelcomed and unwanted. Why won’t it go away? 

At night the wounds of my heart reopen and bleed afresh. Tears flow, alongside the begging for sleep to come, for peace to descend, for memory to forget, for pain to stop. Why won’t it go away? 

Sleep finally comes but the mind grinds on, ruminating quietly, churning over, like a silent machine that will not stop, fed by grief unspoken, and pain unrelenting. Why won’t it go away? 

The leeches have sucked me dry again. Each one a recalled thought, a word, a deed that preyed upon my collective memory of grievances. Why won’t it go away? 

Waking seems an exercise in futility, an attempt to resurrect a ghost that will not die but cannot live. The day ahead looms large with its needs and demands. Why won’t it go away? 

I pour out my cup of tears, griefs and sorrows, wanting my heart and day to start anew. The cracks are there, the ones that let the light in but also the dark. Why won’t it go away? 

The day wears on, minutes to hours, and I fight the good fight, imagining myself a knight in shining armour, rescuing myself. Until I see myself in the mirror and wonder who that sadly grotesque person is, and ask, “Why won’t it go away?”

Why won’t it go away? Because grief and sorrow, pain and hurt, they live with you, are part of you, are simply You. They won’t go away until you go away, and your time has not come. 

Pavitar

14th Jan 2023

On an overcast morning with a tinge of sadness, side effects of antibiotics, and a sense that today my melancholy side needs an airing.