Shouldering the Burden

It is the last day of the bridge therapy (hallelujah!) and the second day without a headache! I am so grateful for some clarity without a thundering, pounding in my head. The depression that has crept in, though has not been an even trade. If they cut me open, perfectly dissected on an exam table, I imagine they would find my insides overrun by thick and sticky, oozing black darkness. It has definitely corroded my heart and invaded my lungs. "What's this?!" the doctors would shriek, as they clamored away from the pools of black now escaping my organs, oozing onto the table and dripping to the floor. It sizzles as it hits the tile and then evaporates, puffing up into dark clouds, taking over the room and consuming all in its hatred and virility.   

I hate the darkness. I am not made of it. I am a being of light.