The Storm
Good day. This isn't really a story so much as a metaphor. It is my expression of depression and it's effects on my life. Le me know what you think.
You know it's always coming, again and again, like summer storms on the hottest, stickiest days. The first warning is a cloud, either physical or metaphorical, off in the distance. You see it in the sky or in your mind and think, "It's just a cloud... no big deal." But it is a big deal. It's the beginning.
In real life this unassuming cloud is a warning. Somewhere up in the sky water particles have condensed enough to take form. It rolls through the sky, graying the ground below. The winds pick up swaying the trees to and from as more and more clouds roll in. Layered among themselves, some are white and fluffy on top, some are grey with blue lining at the bottom, some are black and menacing racing at a faster pace than the others. Then suddenly it's as if all the clouds are one giant, a wall of water and noise. Cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning tell you it's time to seek safety before the torrential rains come and the hail destroys all it can.
In your mind, that cloud is a symptom, an energy drain. No rest relieves it, no caffeine battles it, no form of excitement masks it. It is a drain on your existence. Each new cloud brings another and another. Nightmares, anger, sadness, obsessiveness, neediness, each one racing in on the blowing winds of your moods. All of this melds together to create the big one. The clapping thunder is the muscle aches and popping joints. Lightning bolts of pain shoot from temple to temple, arcing across your eyes. And then the perfect storm hits.
This is where the reality and the metaphor split because there is no shelter from yourself. There's no umbrella to block the sadness or building to stop the rain of self doubt. It consumes your life, like a tornado to a barn, ruining relationships and professional opportunities. You're left with an aftermath of wasted moments, washed away in the flooding.