When depression hits
It hits.
It takes your breath away
Like a punch in the gut
It stares you in the face
And says
“You are nothing.
You’ve done nothing, and you don’t matter…to anyone.”
It makes you think about
All those bouts, those knockouts
And each star
That you see as you are flailing your enemy
They remind me “You had everything. You had hope. You believed. You loved.”
And each song on the radio
Confirms your hopes
Or lessens your dreams
And they make you sing
Only to silence your sadness
Or they make you angry
About everything.
Or they drive you to that part in the song
When the strings crescendo
Sounding like a wave ebbing back
And the cello reminds you of that bright beautiful girl
Who would play her strings
And she would share her mind
And she was brilliant
And then dead.
And you ask Effie “why?”
Why the sting of the strings on your fingertips
Could turn to the bluest cold needle prick?”
I guess I think that’s what depression is
It’s the bluest cold.
It’s the thousands of pages
Of forgotten scientists.
it’s the sting of a TKO
Smelling salts
Boos and hisses
A walk to the locker room
And the tape
And bruises hands.
And the urge to show them
That you have designed your life
Around these beatings.
and that you will always be in
That ring
Dancing through the


Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.