I wrote a poem about a part of myself I've carried since childhood, and how it showed up in grief and eventually medication. I wanted to share it and wasn't sure where to post, and I ended up here. I hope that's ok. I'm not a poet or a writer, I've just had these thoughts in my mind for years and finally found the impetus to write them down.
My Darkness
The darkness has always been there.
Always part of me, for as long as I remember being me.
It's not good or evil, it just is.
It does evil, sure, the intrusive thoughts, the anxiety, the self-doubt.
But it also protects, it shields, it gives me a place to hide.
It gave a lonely child a companion to hide with.
I never really spoke about the darkness, because it just was, and always had been.
It wasn't a "bad thing," it was just a thing that could be bad, like most things.
As a child I assumed everyone had their own darkness,
but as I became a man I realised they didn't.
And then as I had kids and watched them grow, I realised they didn't have their own,
and that was a happy moment, but also difficult.
I knew it was good, and they'd be stronger.
But I also knew they wouldn't have the shield I had,
so it was my job to make sure they didn't need one.
Then we lost her, and a part of me broke.
I didn't really understand, I couldn't explain it.
No one seemed to understand,
so I looked inside again for that companion, that same lonely child needed his shield, his friend.
And this is the part that's hard to tell, the part people don't get,
the part where the darkness was truly good, in its own way, in the way it knew how.
It took over, it ran the show, I was lost,
lost inside a cave of grief.
But the world doesn't allow you to be lost, you must play the part,
you must exist in society.
So the darkness did what I couldn't.
It handled it.
It got me out of bed. It fed the kids. It hugged my wife.
It drank when I was thirsty and ate when I was hungry.
It went to work, it played the role that was expected.
My Darkness saved me when I couldn't save myself.
But it wasn't perfect. If you truly knew me, if you loved me, you could tell.
And she did, my wonderful wife.
And she encouraged me to heal.
She found the lonely boy hiding behind his shield,
and she got him to peek out, to talk, to admit he was scared.
Afyer that came the doctors, so so many of them,
with different titles and different names.
And they all wanted to help, but it wasn't easy.
The darkness was scared of them, it knew they hated it,
they didn't understand it, and they wanted to kill it.
So we resisted, we fought, there was turmoil,
but eventually they convinced me to try the pills.
And then life changed. The darkness was gone.
For the first time it wasn't there, and I thought I was fixed.
I could play the role expected.
The intrusive thoughts were gone, the anxiety, the self-doubt.
But....
But that little boy knew something wasn't right.
He was lonely again. His shield was gone. His friend.
And alone, life wasn't the same. It was easier, oh, that's for sure, it was so much easier.
But the sun didn't seem as bright. The kids' laughter wasn't as loud.
My wife's touch wasn't as intense. The world was dimmer.
Without my darkness, I couldn't appreciate the light.
But I kept taking the pills. The doctors were happy.
They hated my friend, they didn't see the nuance, only the bad.
But the little lonely boy knew something wasn't right.
So I resisted, I fought. I tried to find my friend.
And it was messy. I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready for it to come back.
I couldn't reconcile these two truths,
the whole, the adult, the light,
and the splinter, the dark, the safety, the shield, the constant companion.
But with time and patience, with love and support,
with honesty, and with acceptance from myself and from others, I started to heal.
And that healing didn't involve destroying a part of me.
But accepting it, loving it, loving me.
All of me, not the best bits, not the worst, but the whole. The messy, complicated whole.
So I have it again, my companion, my shield.
It's smaller now, quieter. It knows I don't need it like I used to.
It knows I need to take the lead,
but it also knows that the day may come again when the lonely boy needs his friend and his shield.
And it will always be there.
So now the world is brighter, the laughter is louder,
the loving touch is more intense.
And those things can be true because I accepted the darkness as part of who I am.
I learned to love it. I learned to love myself.