Crawler (Story about depression and 7 cups)

Crawler

“Life is a marathon.”
Run, sprint, take a rest, repeats again and again.

Fracture in your leg
Pain, slow down

People wonder why you’ve stopped
“Pain.” You say
“Sore muscles?” They ask
“Maybe.” You think, as there’s been similar experiences before
“Take some rest and you’ll feel better, don’t put the moment on hold though.” They advised.

Rest, feel yourself, start running again
Different, you can tell, can’t run as hard
Pain is more frequent and intense.
You stop again to have a breather.

“So soon?” people frowning. “Man, you’re weak.”
“I’m never weak.” You say to yourself.
Though the pain is clawing on your spines this time.
“We all have pains, you know, learn to endure.” People say.
“Be like a man and take care of your own responsibilities.” People continue.
You’re frustrated by the comment and yourself.

Clenched fist and jaw, anticipating the next wave of pain.
Running again, pain like echoes of shockwaves.
“Not weak… Can take pain… Run like everyone else.” Down in your mind

A few more steps, your leg snaps, you collapse.
“I’m not weak.” But the pain is too much.
A glimpse of people running by like normal makes you ashamed.

You quickly roll in the bushes on the side and hide yourself.
You’re down and there’s nothing you can do.
Almost passing out, you keep the slightest of conscientiousness.
People calling you, you hide even further, afraid that they’ll see your pain but still telling you to run again.

You see how badly wounded you are
“Weak.” You think.
Crawling forward through the bushes. How fast can it be?
You come to realize you aren’t weak, you’re injured.
Your damn leg broke.
Stop crawling forward, You need heal.
You crawl sideward trying to find a good resting spot.
Suddenly, something feels different

Looking up, “another crawler?”
Yes, it’s what you’ve decide to call yourself, “a crawler”
Looking at each other awkwardly for a moment,
“How are you doing?” was what almost came out of your mouth.
“How are you crawling?” was what you said, instead. Probably more appropriate, anyways.
“Less than slowly” you both reply.
“Same species.” You think
Naturally, you started to talk about the pain you’ve felt and what you’ve been through.
“Similar pain, but a different story.” She replies.
The first time someone really acknowledged your pain.
Somewhat felt empathized.

You two continue on finding a place to heal
A paradise of crawlers, you see.
A suffering of crawlers, you mean.
You crawl into the nearest campfire, hopefully not to be seen as a creep.
Someone shares marshmallows to you. Looking around you find many types of crawlers.
Some completely shattered, lying flat on the ground.
Some struggling to get up, trying to take a step.
Some walking like normal. “Odd.” You think why they are even here.
You see a mark on their legs. You realize that they once were also crawlers.

Someone at the campfire speaks, it’s a share, it’s their story. You listen.
You see their wounds, you hear their stories, you feel their pain. Yet no one judges.
“It’s a deep wound.” You say. “More serious than mine.”
The share continues, you share too, finally feeling relieved.
At the end of sharing, hugs are given. Some of us cry. Yes, we’re all in pain.

After a night of rest, you wake up from pain.
No, everyone here wakes up from pain.
Pain is vivid, the share starts again.
Some pain worsen, some pain relieved, but every pain is heard.
We take a look at our wounds and others too.
Cleaning, bandaging, waiting for it to heal.
Patience another painful word to hear.

Our sharing never stops, bond created, we no longer are crawlers
Friends, wounded ones.

Some days, our wound is heavily infected.
Feeling of desperation is haunting back again.
We’ve tried too much, yet we’re still in the middle of nowhere, only sickness can we see.
“Healthy we will never be again”
Too much and it’s time to give up.
Nevertheless, we stay. Is it hope? Is it bond? We ourselves don’t even know.
Knowing only we care for each other.

Odd, it seems that sometimes we can still have fun.
“We’re healing or only distracting ourselves?” “Dunno.”
“A swarm of weirdoes seems randomly normal and can do some normal things.” You think.
“After all, we all were once running too.”

Wounds are still wounds, broken bone still broken.
Yet we set eyes on the healing, even the slightest.
Cheers! For no more bleeding.
Cheers! For every cleanse.
Cheers! For each regression we sustained.
Patience! Until the healing has complete.
Patience! Until the bone is again one piece.
Patience! Until we can run again.

Sometime after, able to stand up again, you’re ready to take a step again.
“One small step for you, one giant leap for crawlers.”
Responsibilities flashes in on every step you take.
Eager to get running again, but patience you’ve learned. You stay a little longer.
You see someone in the distance. Friends still on the track yelling towards you.
“Come back, faster, let get going” they say.
“I will” with a smile, but you know your pace.

You’ll get on track and start running again, you know it.
You wonder how fast you can go, you wonder if you’ll pick up the responsibilities this time.
But you know you’ll always go off the tracks, into the bushes, near the campfire.
With a new mark.