Like an old friend inviting you to come inside.
Familiar. Comforting.
It will grasp you in its arms and hold you close;
And when you're ready to leave, it wont let you go.
You will beg and plead to be happy,
and it will put up a fight.
It will make you think that the only way to escape it is to take your own life.
If you are lucky, you can break free;
and it will sit and watch you from afar.
Calling your name.
Welcoming you back into it's arms.
It will intrude your thoughts.
Make you think you are worthless.
That you're better off dead.
Just keep telling yourself that it's all in your head.
Keep moving. You will get far.
Depression is not who you are.

You are my morning coffee
and my fade into dreams.

I went to a wedding yesterday.
Saw some brothers and old friends.
A brother asked if I had
quit drinking, after denying his
pressure multiple times.
I said yeah, he immediately stopped
pressuring and asked "why?"
I told him,
something I wouldn't have done before,
"You know, I just didn't like myself
with alcohol. Plus it fed into my
depressive issues, and the cycle just
kept happening. I'm just done with it."
I left out that I'm currently in one,
no reason to explore that on a happy occasion.
But he understood, probably more than most.
Another brother and I dipped off
to have a "GTT" or
"Garbage Trash Talk."
Something we made up years ago that's
code for a brother-heart-to-heart.
We talked of loves present and past,
and what we hoped for the future.
Significant happenings.
I told him that she left for a while,
how it tore me up,
and how she's back now. He said,
"Do you think she'll do it again?
At this point I'm just
looking out for you, bro."
I told him, I said,
"I don't know, man, but
I'm willing to find out."
He accepted, knowing how I felt.
I admitted to him that I'd
"given myself up to God."
He beamed and recounted a time,
a conversation we had had some years
ago, outside of Sonic, drunk.
I had cried to him,
struggling in my faith, trying
to understand how God fit into my
life, even then.
He thanked me, it's always meant
so much to him.
I thanked him as well.
I was struggling on my drive home,
stuck somewhere between meaningless despair
and hopeless loneliness.
I had prayed.
He called me, drunk,
about to pass out,
just to say,
"Keep up the good work, man"
to which I responded,
"I'm doing my best, man."

Wouldn't it be great
If we could sleep away
The hours that abate
And wake up the next day?
But still I fear
When the day is done.
As night draws near
I pray I can overcome.