The Emptiness Creeps and Bleeds

My depression used to look so gnarly; like something inhumane with twisted rage and endless screaming and gnashing teeth and sharp nails. It always tried to claw out of itself, all ready to bleed and clash with anything it comes across, thinking that everything and everyone was the root cause of its uncontainable emotions. It used to have an identifiable figure of endless energy and jittery feet, always trying to flee from the scene.

Now, my depression is just emptiness that doesn’t know what to do with itself. No journey to take. No love to feel. No goal to accomplish. Just emptiness staring at itself with no ends and no beginnings. An eternity of vacuum trying to claim sovereignty over nothing, trying without avail to grasp at the edges of blankness. It is now in a shape of my nine years old self, an awkward little abnormality trying to fit in all social conventions, yet it always fails to blend in since it has no identity of its own neither does it reflect anything around it.

The emptiness creeps and bleeds through all facets, cranies, and nooks. It is, by its very nature, aimless. It wants nothing therefor begets nothing. Ironically, it desperately tries to find something, anything that can become its beacon and goal. Nothing can ever be borne out of nothing.

So, it waits. It festers. It spreads. Until it can finally transform. Or die.