Ah! My muse! You stand before me, dressed in gray, tattered rags, hair wild around your face, an evil smile on your lips. You smirk at my incompetence, mock my struggles. Your haze engulfs my being and drowns that part of me which strains to break free, creating a listlessness in my mind and body.
It consumes me, this laziness which keeps me from enjoying my time with the children, robs me of the energy needed to accomplish even mundane tasks. But there it is, despite all my efforts to repel it. You eat away at my resolve, hold me in place when I want to run, keep me still and silent when I want to dance and sing.
And yet, you reach a depth within me that I do not feel when I am happy, when I am satisfied. You propel me to insights I would normally not achieve because it is the only way I can cast you aside. You take the life which gives you voice. Yet you feed me, too. Without you, my creativity is stunted, my growth hindered.
I wish this were not so, my muse, my love. Leaving you behind, as I must, means leaving behind not just the pain, but also the life. The life that you offer is a half-life, not the full one I have chosen.
My muse. I see thee. I name thee…Depression.