Table for One

table for five

. . .

when?

01.12.2021

+ also published on 'Cimorelli Oneshots'

. . .

"Mommy, when does depression end?"

. . .

"Why do you feel this way?"

How was she supposed to know? Does a poor lamb know why it's being skinned alive? Does it know that it's being fed and taken care of just to die?

No.

It doesn't.

She had no logical reason to feel that way.

She went to a good university.

She paid her bills on time.

She had friends, she had ambitions.

But there was still an intangible force pulling her down, eating her alive.

How was she to explain it?

It's a whole different continent that people don't understand and can't fully relate to unless they've visited it themselves.

She was trapped in the depths of the ocean.

Thrashing around, trying to keep from drowning, desperately wanting to break the surface.

Oxygen was hope, but it took so much effort to find enough just to exist.

And they tell you that once you look to the positive side and find happiness, you'll be fine, but once you've been down there long enough, you forget what the light looks like.

You forget who you were before you fell too deep.

And normal life feels so far away, much like a distant memory.

Your hand reaches out, but you pull it back quickly because you're scared to move upwards.

You're scared of what you've forgotten, scared of the unknown, scared of the monsters that might be lurking above.

But you're also scared of losing your grip once you make it up there.

Scared of falling further downwards, scared of saying hello once again to rock bottom.

Most of all, you're petrified of being in the same spot, alone in the darkness.

"I-I don't know."

. . .

"It doesn't, honey. It ends when it ends you."