The sinking feeling of depression creeps up on me again. It feels like a lead weight I’ve suddenly found myself encumbered with. Like an anchor, I toss it overboard. It swiftly sinks through the depths of the cold darkness and I along with it, yet I remain in the vessel from which it was dropped. A piece of me here, a piece of me there—all to keep the vessel in which I reside from drifting out to sea, forever to be lost.
I remain anchored in the vast ocean where the water meets the sky. I watch as the vibrant colors of the sunset reflect in the rippling salt water. The view is such that I am distracted from my suffering. I find myself in awe of the magnificent display of beauty in an existence that knows such anguish.
Perhaps one must suffer in some way. Perhaps one must feel the burden of one’s anchor so that it will be tossed overboard, keeping one’s vessel from being lost in the sea of life. Perhaps hell is not a place of eternal damnation and torment, but a place of learning and evolving. Perhaps what we call hell is simply the condition of being human.
From my book: Hushing the Voices
SB LACROIX 
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