Having it out with melancholy
I won't post all of it in here, but Jane Kenyon's poem, Having it Out with Melancholy, about her experience with depression, is quite eye-opening, not to mention disturbing, and of course sad. Here is an excerpt of some lines I found particularly noteworthy:
...
You taught me to exist without gratitude.
You ruined my manners toward God:
...
A piece of burned meat
wears my clothes, speaks
in my voice, dispatches obligations
haltingly, or not at all.
It is tired of trying
to be stouthearted, tired
beyond measure.
...
... With the wonder
and bitterness of someone pardoned
for a crime she did not commit
I come back to marriage and friends,
to pink fringed hollyhocks; come back
to my desk, books, and chair.
...
... Unholy ghost,
you are certain to come again.
Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet
on the coffee table, lean back,
and turn me into someone who can't
take the trouble to speak; someone
who can't sleep, or who does nothing
but sleep; can't read, or call
for an appointment for help.
...
... Easeful air
presses through the screen
with the wild, complex song
of the bird, and I am overcome
by ordinary contentment.
What hurt me so terribly
all my life until this moment?