Getting out of bed is hard, eating is a chore, holding a conversation is nigh impossible. A heavy cloud hangs over me, pouring down bad thoughts like rain in a hurricane. The winds tear my umbrella to shreds, turning it inside out, and the rain pelts me like tiny spears, embedding in my skin and tunneling into my heart. You're worthless, they whisper, spinning lies that my mind believes. You're worse than nothing, you are one small flame in this world, nothing will make you brighter, you cannot be brighter. You will be drowned out, extinguished by the rain, it says. You will fail, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But then, out of nowhere, another umbrella, a stronger one, takes the place of my own. Another light in the darkness induced by my own flame growing dimmer and dimmer. My flame is allowed to grow again, a temporary respite from the cold rain; I can breathe again. I know the rain will come once more, it always does, but this time I’m sure I can rely on others to help me rekindle my flame, to rekindle my will not just to be alive, but to truly live.
- rainy days, r.c.
