Everything inside me vibrates with the truth of how you are feeling and what you are thinking and saying.  I remember many, many endless years of feeling this way.  Even if I had known God before, there was no god where I was then.  Only demons.  Every day was the same dull gray, whether I was inside or out.  There was no color anywhere.  And each time I thought there might be hope, a trapdoor would open beneath me and I would fall down into the next level of hell.  All I thought about for a solid year was suicide -- I researched it online, I talked to my therapist about it, I tried it more than once.  And yes, I know the hospital halls, pulling myself slowly along by the rail on the wall.  They even told me I crawled much of the time I was there, but I don't remember that.  But I'm not surprised.

Thank god, I am not in that place anymore.  But I really do understand everything you say in this poem.  All I fear now is that I may return to that place at any time.  The old trapdoor may open as I walk across the street, as I walk across my room, as I lie down to sleep.

Carolyn