Some Nights…

Written by on September 10, 2007 in Conversations on the Healing Journey with 0 Comments

Just because I like to write songs of hope and inspiration, doesn’t mean that’s how all my days are. Like many people, and like most survivors of abuse, I deal with depression. Not that I just get depressed, but *depression*.

Some things occur in my life that can trigger those cavernous feelings of pain, and blanket it with a paralyzing numbness. When it does these are moments that seem to stand still. I think that can be a kind of hell, when the pain you feel engulfs you completely and there’s no sense of time moving forward and you truly feel cut off from everyone and everything.

These are the moments when it’s best to have family or friends, even one will do, that you can reach out to…or who will reach in to you, when you are rendered totally still. An in-the-flesh person is best, but I have found that even cyber friends can be incredible blessings. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, someone on the other side of the world or in another time zone or even a friend who likes to be up at all hours of the night, can touch you and in that touching, pull you through.

It’s like weight lifting. When you have a spotter, often all they have to do is lift a fraction of a pound of all the weight you are trying to bench press and you can push the weight all the way up to the top. But without that tiny shift, you may find yourself stuck in mid air, not up and not down, until your arms give out and the weight comes down hard and you lie there pinned.

I don’t know how universal deep depression is. I know it’s human to get depressed and discouraged, and there’s times, I’m sure everyone feels like giving up. But the depression I’m talking about goes further than that. It’s the kind where you could just not exist, where that possibility is the only thing in what could be called your life that would look appealing, if appealing is even the correct word.

I’m not talking about suicide or attempting suicide. That’s active. It’s taking some kind of step, albeit destructive. It’s some kind of control. I’m talking about being okay with just not existing.

Perhaps it’s the stagnant aspect of the situation that’s the most toxic.

Any kind of movement is a savior. Putting words to paper. Reading a MySpace blog of a friend or of someone you don’t know, but who has written something that touches you. A long distance CPR.

Here’s a poem I wrote one night, when I was in such a place. It didn’t start out as a poem, but as it took shape it took a hold of me, too, and after the last word, I found myself sleepy. That, too, is movement. And in the morning, it was a new day.


Some Nights
© 2007 Demian Yumei

Some nights are filled with despair,
when the sorrow in your heart keeps you awake
so that sleep can offer no respite.

Some nights I’m left with wondering
how I will make it,
when I second guess words spoken.

Some nights clash with anger and remorse
and I find myself standing
among no winners.

I wonder why I always seem to end up in the same place,
wonder if I am ever meant to be at home anywhere.

Perhaps some hearts are meant to be hermits,
searching endlessly
for a cave to take refuge,
even as they long
for the very touch they succeed in avoiding.

Some nights,
no matter how many songs I write or sing,
I am left mute.

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About the Author

About the Author: Demian Yumei, author, singer/songwriter and artist activist, using spoken, written word and original songs in her human rights activism. Demian is a traveler on the healing journey with a lifelong love affair with the creative process. .


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