Anthony Eritano CW 101-01 9/6/2011 Depression: The one without eyes that makes you unwhole An epic battle

where no ground is made, but all is lost. A dark all consuming entity awaits; quietly lurking in the shadows of your mind. He is the one without eyes but he can see every movement you make; mouth riddled with rows of razor sharp needle teeth and dripping viscous liquid. Silently and ominously, he waits to strike. Freely, it stalks you from memory to memory, slowly feeding on your pain, your despair and your will to live. They feed him and make him stronger. He waits for the time to attack... You stand alone, helpless; your sanity only protected by a thin shield made of balsa wood and a spear made of pipe cleaners. You cringe in fear; knowing that the predator lurks in the unseen labyrinth of your mind. Cowering behind your pitiful shield, you look every direction, anticipating an imminent attack. But the creature waits; watching your every movement with unseen precision. Then it happens; your guard goes down, and he attacks from behind. You never saw him coming, or felt his teeth sink deep into your flesh. He takes his time, letting the despair fill and consume you. You feel helpless and powerless. Everything that brought you happiness fades away. Pictures of loved ones go black and demented. You feel the monster consume you; surrounding you in eternal blackness as he begins to feed. All becomes cold, all becomes dark. You feel pain all over; a swelling in your head and filling your skull. The pressure builds and you can't take anymore; and it raptures. All your fears, all your sadness, all your despair spills from your shattered skull. The monster reels back and roars triumphantly to the ice cold air. As his victory cry shrieks into the air, the sky goes dark. An unseen dark hue sweeps across the world; shrouding the world in tinted light. The monster claws his way from your mind and drowns the world around you in fear and sadness. Despite the sun shining in the sky; you feel no warmth as daggers of ice impale your heart. The cold consumes all. All that you feel is cold. The cold becomes your world, your isolation and the force keeping you from the light. There is no happiness, only despair. No cries of happiness from children, or laughing from that crude joke you heard. The monster sucked the joy from the world. Everything is dulled and muted; sounds are muffled and distorted. No matter how hard you try, you are ignored. You are invisible to the world; a small speck of dust or a fly on the wall. An annoyance people avoid. You

are isolated from the world. Nothing matters, no one cares, you are worthless to the world; a piece of trash littering the sidewalk. All you can do is cry alone. But you can cry and cry until there are no more tears to shed. You can scream, and curse until your voice becomes raspy and lifeless as your throat collapses. You can pray... pray the pain away to whatever god you think is listening; as if they really ever cared. But still the pain lives on, the feeling that your body is tearing itself apart from the inside out; the feeling of your brain being shredded apart as the monster retreats back to your mind; lashing relentlessly and gnawing with its needle sharp teeth. He eats your soul and makes you unwhole. You are empty inside, a hollowed out shell; a void in existence. A cold dark oblivion empty of all life leaving only pain and regret. You just want the pain to all go away; you search desperately for a way, a way to end it all and make the pain go away. You stare down the barrel of a 45, crying in agony as the monster feeds away; desperately wanting to pull the trigger, to make it all go away. The answer comes with a metallic click and a sudden ringing in your ears. All goes black; all the pain goes away as you fall lifeless on the floor. It had to end... Because if the monster ever did relent... It wouldn't be because it cared...

The Little Heart I stare blankly at my bench, Mountains of papers surround me, Things to do, experiments to run, deadlines missed and those coming soon, Sometimes I wonder why I try, why I care, and why I do this to myself, Why do I suffer this hell? Failure after failure to no avail. I stare blankly at my bench, Beyond the mountains of papers, an object hangs alone and out of place, Standing out like a skimpy red dress at a bleak and somber funeral, A small pillow, shaped like a heart, hangs lifeless and neglected from my counters edge, Its small compact form fits comfortably in my hand as I squeeze it tightly, Its very existence on the bench disturbs the harmony, like an off note violin in a symphony, Its once vibrant purple splotched fabric now faded with time and chemical fumes, The poor stitching barely holds in the stuffing, That tries desperately to escape its fabric prison, The edges are uneven; as if someone was unable to cut with precision, Giving the heart an obscure uneven shape that defies perfection, Thin pieces of white thread jet out of the seams, Each one a somber reminder of how difficult it was to sew. I stare blankly at my bench, Mountains of papers surround me, Things to do, experiments to run, deadlines missed and those coming soon, Sometimes I wonder why I try, why I care, and why I do this to myself, I stare at the faded purple splotched heart resting in my hand, This heart is small and falling apart, but it speaks to me in a loud thunderous baritone, It speaks louder than the warning sirens that I hear every Tuesday at noon, It speaks louder than the death metal concert I declined to go to, I give the heart another reassuring squeeze, in hopes that the future will be better, And while I may never be able to laugh with him or cry with him again, To hold him or to make love to him just one last time, Or feel his clammy pale hand in mine,

As I give him false reassurance that everything will be fine, To comfort and reassure him that he is still beautiful in my eyes, Despite his wild brown hair being gone and his face riddled with sickness and pain, As the poison dripped into his IV, I squeezed the heart that he sewed for me, Even though he has passed; you, little heart, still remain, What I hope you realize, little heart, is that I Love you, I laugh with you, and cry with you, I look to you when I feel alone and lost, And while I neglect you from time to time, you never leave my side or think less of me, After every failed experiment, you are always there, The first to remind me to hang in there. I stare blankly at my bench, Mountains of papers surround me, Things to do, experiments to run, deadlines missed and those coming soon, Sometimes I wonder why I try, why I care, and why I do this to myself, Why do I suffer this hell? Failure after failure to no avail, I squeeze the little heart until my knuckles go a ghostly white, I suffer for you, little heart, Each sleepless night and failed experiment is for you, You are a reminder that the slim progress made is not in vain, But what I love about you the most, little heart, is that you give me the will to push on, The courage to fight on and the fortitude to ride out the worst of the storm. I stare blankly at my bench, Not knowing what to do, But I squeeze the little faded heart in my hand, and I know instantly what to do I take another gulp of my cold flat coffee and push my doubts aside, As the hours slip by, I struggle forward; defying sleep and stress, Though the path I have chosen is riddle with pain and disappointment, I will continue on for you, little heart, From this day until the end of days, Searching for a cure Dedicated to Mark (1986-2009)