News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

November 2, 2011

Shadows of My Heart

It's cold. It's dark. There's no one here -- they've danced away with the midnight flames and left me all alone in this foreboding mass of empty thoughts and wayward hymns that rise, hauntingly, towards the sky. This massive crescendo sounds like a cacophony to me. How did I get here? I haven't a clue. This melancholic thrumming of dissension emanates through my bones in waves that seemingly are unfixed. One laps gently at my toes only to persuade me that the monstrous typhoon behind it isn't coming. I can't exactly say I see the typhoon, 'cuz I'm looking at my toes wishing the centipedes and arachnids would scurry away and leave my limbs be.

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When I look up, it's too late. The monster surrounds me, engulfing me with foamy green anger as it swarms around my shirt and tugs me under. I dare not gasp for air, which now seems like some foreigner that's decided to walk away and leave me stranded in a tropical hell.

The dissension fades, abandoning me once again to the simple evening that quickly slips into nothing.

Not even a pin-prick of light can pierce through these shadows. The shadows of my heart. So gloom-ridden and laced with the cousins of death. Depression mingled with sorrow. Scarlet ribbons of hope float sideways, blending out of sight with the eternal night.

Each ebb and beat of the tide stops my ears from hearing the footsteps that approach from behind.

The lightest breath sends shockwaves down my back and I spin sideways (or maybe it was up? I don't know, the sense of direction is completely disproportionate). A figure stands there. It's not exactly what I'd call...a human, or even another being. It's just...a figure. Soft, bubbling glowy breath flows solemnly from its mouth as it reaches out to caress my arm.

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"Who are you?" I yelp, trying to slide back through the darkness, once so hated yet now cherished.

It doesn't speak. I don't even know if it can. It just holds out a hand and beckons me forward. It doesn't move closer or back away. I try to turn from its potently sweet face yet I can't. Its gaze roots me to the spot. Maybe we're moving, maybe were sinking, or standing still...who knows. I can't tell.

That hand is still there -- stretched towards me as though to invite me on a walk. I hesitate but a moment and then...

I pause. The darkness calls me. Beckons me; I am its mother, after all. To become one with light would be to forget all my labour would be in vain -- the children of my pain would sizzle away in torment of the fire that consumes their very being.

The hand is still there.

I shudder. The thought of giving even an inch of my body to contact such purity is beyond my imagination. What would it do to me? I shudder.

The hand is still there. Waiting, ever so patiently.

I look at myself, awash in the soft glow. My despair cloaks my body -- I cannot see who I really am through this mask of pain and torment.

Swallowing hard, I lift what I think is my hand and reach out to the light. My fingertip contacts the hand ever so briefly.

A sensation so sweet as to entirely overwhelm my soul crashes through my body. I want more. More light. More of this strange peace that pushes back the cloak of darkness that entangles my being. I grasp the hand and step closer. The light doesn't move. It simply waits; its soft love shines through the thick blackness of my hands and peels away the layers of deceit and terror. Beneath lies the whitest skin I've ever seen. So blindingly white that, for a moment, it matches the light in perfect unity.

My terror is overcome by curiosity and desire. I step closer and grasp the other hand. My eyes locked on the eyes of the light, I am swept into an embrace so innocent as to be childish. None of the covetous desires or hopes thread through my brains as I allow the light to soak through my every bone. None of the horrors and terrors that the darkness once played upon me touch my face. This is truly amazing.

For what seems like an eternity, I wait as the light encompasses my ache and pain. Each scar and teardrop are scalded with purity and sentenced back to the chasm of their birth. Each lost dream that the darkness had gluttonously eaten was spit back and made new.

I never did back away from the light. It holds me tight as the darkness outside our embrace stretches towards me, attempting to regain what it lost. It longs for its mistress and mother, yet it has been abandoned. It shall never again grasp what it once held so dearly, for I have found another lover.


The light brought me life, something my darkness could never do.

The light is Jesus.

The darkness -- deep depression of my soul, self made and birthed through the agony of fear and self-hate.


This is an allegory concerning depression and self-injury. If you currently deal with either of these, remember -- there is someone and Someone out there who loves you. Jesus loves you and others love you too. By embracing His light and love, those chains can be broken and the wings once tightly bound will be free to fly again :) Also, if you are dealing with self-injury, I'll be praying that you'll find someone (or someone will find you) and you can confide in them...self-injury is harmful to your body and your soul. It's not a little problem -- it's a big issue that needs to be taken care of. 

Signed with scarlet,



  1. This is so well written! I love it :D God bless you!

  2. Very well done! I really love this part...
    I never did back away from the light. It holds me tight as the darkness outside our embrace stretches towards me, attempting to regain what it lost. It longs for its mistress and mother, yet it has been abandoned. It shall never again grasp what it once held so dearly, for I have found another lover.


  3. This is beautiful! It is very well written, thanks for sharing!

  4. Beautifully penned from the heart Squeaks. Thank you for sharing these words...


  5. That was so good... thank you for writing and letting us read it!

  6. I haven't come by your blog in a while...and then I find this.

    This is me. Or it was. Or it will be again if I don't hang on. Winter is always hard for me, in terms of depression, and this one has been the worst ever. :-/

    Thanks for that. I wrote something similar in November...posted it on my blog on the 18th and part two a few days later...mostly I was writing to myself. Writing my autobiography:

  7. Thanks guys :) I'm glad ya'll enjoyed it!

    @Matthew; I totally know what you mean. Winter is a pretty nasty season. Thanks for sharing those links :D They're rad.


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