Cold Wind

I sit, looking out the window.  Watching the trees sway in the wind.  A wind no longer filled with warmth.    A cold wind.  The sparkling sunshine of summer is long gone, covered day after day by thick, gray clouds.  Institutional gray.  The sky is no longer welcoming.  Time is running out.  The cold wind speaks of what is to come.  Snow.  Ice.  Death.
 
The walls of this house offer me some protection from the unpleasant world outside the window.  They are all that stand between me and the cold wind that is blowing.  
 
Trees are stick people, their finery fallen into decaying piles at their feet.  The grass has given up, shriveled up, died.  Flowers have withered and perished.  All the color has gone out of the world.  Everything is brown and gray and black. Uninspiring. Depressing.
 
The cold wind takes it all in.  Laughs.  Blows harder.
 
Inside, the lights are off and I sit in near darkness.  Lacking the energy required to fight back.   I moan with the trees as they are tossed by the wind.  Creaking and groaning.  We become one.
 
The cold wind has blown away everything that matters.  Yanking it out of my hand with fierce determination.  Jerking it out of my heart.  Stealing it away.  All that is left is this barren landscape.  Harsh.  Unforgiving.  Lifeless.  I sit behind my protective barrier in numb silence.  Trying to remember what it was like to be alive.  Conjuring memories of spring and summer.  Letting the dark, depressing days hold me captive behind thick walls.
 
Daylight comes later, leaves sooner.  Dropping in for a brief moment, and then flitting away.  It doesn’t like winter’s decorations.  Doesn’t enjoy the depressing party it has thrown.  Makes no apologies as it bows out early. 
 
I watch it all happen as the wind throws dirt and tiny twigs against my windows.  Having a tantrum.  Furious that it can’t beat me with its harsh, cold fists.  It howls in frustration.  It is the only sound in the deep silence of my world.  I am thankful for the glass that protects me from its tirade.  The sound of the unwavering wind leaves me edgy and tense.  Unsettled.  I know it longs to tear me apart, to spit me out and blow me away, just as it beats and flails the leaves in the yard.  It makes them dance to its frenzied song.  And laughs at the power it has over them.  A power it also wants to hold over me.  So it beats my walls and causes the roof to groan.  Sometimes the walls shake.
 
But I, behind my walls, am lifeless.  Frozen.  Numb.  Nothing touches me.  Nothing makes me dance.  Nothing moves me.  I am as dead as the grass.  As the flowers are a memory, so am I.  The cold wind laughs, mocking me.   I can’t win.  It always does.  Eventually.
 
Gray, unforgiving skies and a cold wind.  Blowing relentlessly.  Blowing away all hope and life.  This is what it’s like to live with depression.
 
 

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