i am the mayor.

my brain space is a village.

it is self-sustaining and providing, growing on its own. it thrives. occasionally others come to visit and a few stay for good, but it is my village. i am the mayor, the one that the townsfolk listen to and trust. my village is small and not very special, but it is mine. it is mine and no one can take it away.

except for my depression--it is a goblin.

it’s a nasty little thing, a gross pickle green color. it is ugly and loud and irritating, and the townsfolk fear it. i fear it. no one wants the goblin here; it came on its own volition. it marched through the one entryway for my village and claimed things for his own. no one is strong enough to argue. it takes my village away from me, and i am worthless.

the goblin takes over.

it controls the singular gate. the others that used to come and visit no longer stop by; they have all heard that the goblin is here, and they are too terrified. they pass by and spare no glances. the village becomes isolated. nothing moves in, nothing moves out. it is desolate and stiff. days pass and the townsfolk are anxious. they look to me for answers but i have none and it is a feeling horribly indescribable.

the goblin brings nothing but evil.

for the few others that stop by, it is nothing but Negatives that are let in. any Positives that come are forced to leave all enjoyment at the door, something that is often too large of a loss to even consider. Negatives are let in with ease; they work in favor of the goblin, giving it support and strength to further control what it can. the Negatives take over; they steal from the pre-existing Positives, taking everything the village has for their own. the townsfolk become even more restless.

no one can leave.

no one can leave, and the townsfolk soon find themselves adopting the way of Negatives. the village that was once mine is nothing but chaos, and hopelessness runs through me. some mayor i am. dread fills my veins and it is all the more harder to resist falling alongside the townsfolk, harder to resist succumbing to being a Negative. days pass and the goblin becomes more and more malicious. my attempts are feeble.

the goblin, too, has its weak days.

the goblin has its weak days, and those are the days i favor most. for on its weak days, Positives come. Positives come and they prove to be a small beacon of light. they bring order and hope alongside themselves. they help fix things and clean up, and while it is nowhere near being okay, i am grateful. i offer for them to stay and chat, but they leave quickly. they are busy things, and i am a fool for thinking they would pause for a craven creature like me.

the Positives are few and far in between, except for when they aren’t.

they are strange little things, and come from where i would least expect. the milkman from the village over leaves behind a small group of them while on his regular run. the goblin is unsuspecting, and i gather them in my arms with the heavy heart of a mother reuniting with children. the sheer shock renders me even more sensitive to their effects, and long after they’re gone i am still staring in awe at their help. i am on edge, eyes open for any place Positives might exist.

the goblin’s weak days are recurrent.

it is defenseless more than not, and i patrol the village and borders, hoping to stumble upon hidden Positives. days are calm, and i see townsfolk more than Negatives. a few Positives have come to stay, and they work daily. it is quiet, but i am grateful. no news is good news.

or maybe it was the quiet before the storm.

the goblin comes back swinging, and my mind is a whirlwind of worries. i am rushed and panicked. he storms through town with his scythe, aiming for any Positives it finds. i shelter the few i can in my arms, mantras of hope and wishes pouring from my lips. the terror continues for hours until i am a mess at the end, swimming in my own tears. the Positives in my embrace are the only ones remaining. i fear what is next.

remission is slow and painful.

townsfolk stay hidden, and i do not blame them. they are terrified of the village, and i feel remorseful. i’ve adopted the few Positives left, taken them as my own. however, they are the ones to hold my hand and guide me through the wreckage. one grasps my finger and asks why does the goblin control things, for he is not the mayor, you are? i do not respond. the answer is one too pitiful to say.

but it is right--i am the mayor.

i am the mayor and the goblin is not. the goblin does not belong. this is not his realm and he does not belong. he came only due to the fact that no mayor before me warned of him. he came only due to the fact that i did not know how to protect my village from him. i am not the first village he has taken, and i will not be the last. and yet no one talks of him, no one mentions how to defend against him. it is pathetic.

i am furious.

i am furious at myself for letting him infiltrate what he did; furious at myself for letting him terrorize my village, my townsfolk, my home. i am furious for letting him take control, for he is not the mayor. i am. i am the mayor, this is my village. and nothing will take that away, not even my depression.

Author's Note

this is what my depression and remission looks like.