I walk through the city of Jerusalem, down Jaffa street. There is a beautiful chilly breeze and the skies are clear blue and the warm sun is on my back. But it’s as if the depression is still next to me. A dark cloud follows me. It’s above me and the darkness lingers.
I have to force myself to keep walking when all I want to do is run into a store and buy binge food and curl up in a corner and stay there.
My reflection repulsed me ‘don’t let it say these things to you’ I tell myself. Because the depression lies.
‘You’re worthless. You have no point in this world, you are ungrateful and you are a burden. The world would be better off without you’
I imagine the bench I am sitting on and I imagine it being empty and I picture it to be a prettier site.
An attractive empty bench, instead of this miserable ugly girl. With the scars on her thighs and the blackness in her heart that washes over all her organs.
It’s as if it’s all black inside now.
There isn’t a person anymore. No more Danielle. No more emotions and feelings and dreams, no hopes. It’s just the darkness of the depression now.
This holy city, for the Jews and the Muslims and the Christians.
There is this woman that is hollow.
I walk and I walk and I imagine that something will lift me out of this but I know there is nothing.
It’s a state that I am in and I have to wait for it to pass.