What Does Surviving the Specter Look Like?

If you could see me you probably wouldn’t be able to tell what surviving means.

Unless you had it. 

A.k.a. depression.

 

Specter, Pt. 4

The Final Chapter

This is the final verse of a four part poem on Specter – the personification of my clinical depression and suicide attempt. Please read parts 1, 2, and 3 as well. This project was the result my friend’s inspiration. Thank you @Harry P. X. Frost @ theunrepentantwanderlust.wordpress.com

If you ride the waves, they will subside.

If you have lost hope, there are others in the same valley. Reach out. Share with them.

If you feel you are alone, there are those who will help. Let them carry you.

Good will prevail my fellow warrior.

Peace be with you as you survive through your valley.

-StS

 

So I had a brief encounter with Specter last night. [JOURNAL ENTRY]

NOTE TO READER: This post mentions suicide. If this is a trigger, please do not read it at this time.

This is what I quickly typed on my computer through a bucket of tears while my daughter was getting ready for her mother to pick her up…

---

“No Lexapro for 3 days. Weepy and emotional. Swirly headed (from withdrawal?)

“I don’t feel like writing.

“My daughter is in the shower getting ready for her mom to pick her up.

“I’ve been weepy all day…at church…when she got up from the dinner table. Do I talk to her about this? Do I let her know that her dad has a disease? I want her to know that it’s okay. I want her to know that she’s NOT going crazy if she feels like me. I think I  remember reading somewhere that scientists believe that clinical depression is hereditary.

“Her mom may try to take her away from me if she thinks I’m not stable. ‘Mom’s House. Dad’s House.'”

 

Specter, Pt. 3

This is the 3rd part of my poem on my clinical depression, which I’ve personified as Specter. Please feel free to read the first and second parts.

 

Specter, Pt. 2

To read the first part of this poem, click here.

 

Specter, Pt. 1

NOTE: This post has references to suicide. If this is a trigger, please do not read it at this time.

The credit for this post is given to my friend, Harry P. X. Frost. He has a commanding skill with poetry and divides his verses into sections. I am borrowing his idea (hat tip Harry) to express what I felt like in my darkest hours. Specter is the personification of my clinical depression. Please visit Harry at his page – theunrepentantwanderlust.wordpress.com/

Thank you for the inspiration, HPXF.