The Pit

This much I know. There exists a dark pit in all of us, the blackest of black places, deep enough to feel bottomless. How fortunate the few who never have to fathom its depths, but most will, at some time and without warning.

Some enter never to leave, reluctantly languishing, having lost the energy to fight back. A tragic few lose the battle and pay the ultimate price. Others continue their struggle without a murmur, their despair and anguish visible only to those closest to them.

Those who are able may choose to ignore, or deny its existence, though the pit lurks within them as well. Many try to help to no apparent avail; some simply offer comfort and solace, which is all anyone can really do.

Eventually, after an age (the pit has no notion of time), its hold might loosen allowing light, once again, to shine into the depths. As the longest night gives way to day, for a while it may appear the pit is no longer really there. When it does return however, it is just as deep, just as black, just as indiscriminate.

All anyone can really hope, if lucky enough to emerge, is that moments spent outside the pit will grow and expand: happier hours, days, weeks spent without teetering on its brink or sliding, hopelessly, into its maws. Perhaps such times will extend such that, one day, the whole experience becomes no more than an unhappy memory.

When it returns, as it surely will for so many, may we all have the strength and knowledge that the experience can be but temporary, however permanent it feels at the time, and however disappointing it is to learn that the pit will never be completely vanquished.

Eventually, a fortunate few may nod in wry understanding of what it means to be human, imperfect, with baggage and with certain areas of conscious existence that can never be fully controlled, even if years pass before their deepest reaches manifest themselves again.

The Pit

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