Out of the light, comes the dark

Surrounded by complete darkness,she knew she had to escape.
Desperately searching for something, anything which could help guide her onto a more familiar path.

It was not a peaceful darkness. The noise was unbearable. She couldn't hear herself think. She begged, pleaded with herself to concentrate on her breathing and remain calm.

She could sense the space narrowing. She felt claustrophobic. Winded like someone or something had slammed her chest hard, but she knew she was totally alone. No one could help her here. No one could hear her.

She wanted to fight, but she was giving up. Cold, scared and alone, she had nothing left. She was nothing and nobody. She didn't belong here. She was broken. There were too many pieces missing.

Then it hit her. It came so fast out of the darkness. She didn't realise until it was too late. It encased her, swallowed her up, lifted her so high she felt as though she were flying. Soaring through the clouds.

The light was amazing. It hurt her eyes, but it was beautiful. For that second, that tiny moment, everything seemed clear. Calm. Peaceful. Wondrous. Just for that split second.

The fight had left her feeling exhausted, but the urgency to propel herself was too strong. She felt weak, but couldn't stop.

She needed to feel the release, desperately trying to expel the seemingly endless torrents of redundant jabbering.

This was her torture. It was constant. The darkness comes then the light scoops her up and left her to crash back down into a messy heap. It happens over and over again on an endless loop.

The depressive lows and the manic highs of Bipolar disorder.

This post was inspired by Josie, at Sleep is for the weak and her writing workshop. It combines 2 of her prompts Depression and Light.