It Goes, Bump…in The Night

Where does depression come from?

It comes from recent rain and rainbows; music from your past, a babbling brook that loves to gossip; fresh cut grass that makes your tennis shoes green, or it can come from a beautiful woman that takes your breath away.

I’m a dude…

Depression can come from a baby laughing, the weird word on a roadside sign, the way you may see a person treat another, good or bad, or it can come from that sudden flash of understanding “Egads!” or a new, breath-taking perspective about something you weren’t even thinking about in just that moment; as a matter of fact you haven’t thought about it in sometime then…”BOOM” there it is….

“I’m Rich!”

Then, there’s the other place that depression will come from….

It can come from the dark, when your eyes are closed and your mind is supposed to be at rest.

*Mine hardly sleeps anymore*

It can come to you in the night; where things will go “bump” or watch you from your closet.

When the dark inspirations come, it is the type of nightmare that nightmares hope they never have….

It’s really real, man.

I would not categorize what happened to me last Night, whilst in my heavenly repose, as a nightmare exactly…

I did not twitch, jerk, wet my bed; sweat profusely or wake up screaming; tangled in twisted blankets, all of my pillows on the floor….

*There was a struggle*


I woke up, quietly.

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way our eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

*What is that noise? *

“Am I back?”

Not “awake”….”Am I back?”

I remember whispering that to myself, this morning; I laid there for a while, in the dimming light, only a small, gray sliver of sunbeam from the window to stare at.

This is what struck me a little later….

I had gotten up slowly, musing on how real the “episode” in my night terror had seemed and how much of it I seem to have remembered.

It wasn’t like your typical dream, or mine usually; running thru our fingers like water or sand as Dickinson would say.

*You can’t remember *

This time, this one was sticking in my mind….

I dressed slowly, I got up slowly, I moved slowly….

I was exhausted from the dream burden that I now carried in my heart and mind.

*It’s all your fault*

*It’s all in my head*

Later, as I walked up the echoing sidewalk toward the office under a cloudy, morning sky, I stopped.

I thought…

Why did I whisper “Am I back” and not “Am I awake”?

Did I actually go somewhere else?

Did that mysterious part of my brain know something that I didn’t?


How else could I explain the sudden return from the undiscovered country of my mind, unless it has known how to get there and back in the first place; like it’s been there before, as if though it were a real place.

One thing was for sure…

I don’t wanna go back there.

*I do not control my mind*

*Depression is real*

The place…
The depressed place…
The really real, dude….

It is a dark place where you go to scratch at old wounds and make them bleed.

It is a place where you cannot cry;

…only watch and scratch….

It is the place where you talk only to yourself…but you never listen.

*I’m not crazy*

But, in whatever Gods infinite goodness may be, however you look at goodness;

…there was no running or screaming in the “place”, nothing chasing me, nothing breathing in the dark…..

The only monster there, was me.

*I am in the closet, watching*

This is the place we go to, to re-visit mistakes and regrets; as a restrained and gagged bystander we sit and stare; a silent witness to your own stupidity and ignorance; back in the day.

*We scratch and scratch… *

It is the place where you re-live your past and there is NOTHING THAT YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE ANY OF IT!

The only power you have is to toss your head in your sleep and moan “no….” “No….”

Or worse….stay awake.

*This part sucks*

You don’t gasp “wake up” because you don’t know that you’re asleep; you know…I know, that this is as real as it gets…

*Really real, dude*

In the awake place we can force ourselves to quit dwelling on the past, to get on with our lives, to quit “beating ourselves up”; we’re only human after all, we all make mistakes.


Not there; not in the undiscovered, dark continent of our minds.

The monster that is you sits across from you in a small room and begins to tell you a story…..

*Same old song and dance*

It is a long story, it is a true story.

….oh, so true….

*That’s what sucks the most*

“Am I back?”

You cannot protest, you cannot cover your ears, you cannot look away.

I have to look at myself, as I drone on….and on.

The worst part is, is that you are unable to believe the excuses you’ve made anymore…

You are older now, wiser; plus, you know you’re a lying bastard. You know your bullshit…

*Don’t fall for it*

Your monster that is you, knows that you’re a liar….

He knows how I can be….or was.

And he will never….EVER, let me forget.

But, you still try to soften the condemnations….

This isn’t really real, dude….is it?

“Am I back?”

When the monster that is you has finished with his tale, you just sit there, swathed in fresh guilt and regrets, all of the old wounds beginning to fester anew.

The fresh whip marks across your shoulders, face and back burn and gape.

No one can punish you with such ferocity and relentless spite and contempt, as can the very own monster that is you.


“Look what you’ve done” it
keeps saying…..

And I looked…..



I opened my eyes.

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

“Am I back?”


I’m sitting here in our break-room writing this. I am looking around at the vending machines, a gurgling coffee pot and occasionally glancing up at the humming lights. I’ll tap a key or two on my laptop as a new thought or memory about last night comes to me.

“Am I back?”

I can’t tell…..

It feels….

….like that other, place….


Wish I may…but…
It’s dark in here…

It’s always here….

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