Winning the Fight

When depression grips me, I go down like Gandalf and Balrog.
Sometimes I feel the falling, and gripping at the sides, I cling to the now in desperation.

And all the while I'm down, I'm fighting it.  Winning battles and losing battles.
Being convinced -- but then convincing my demon of my worth.

For Gandalf, it's a fire breathing bull but for me, my dark I call the Krakken.

I realize today, in the moments I write this, how very much I learn from my falls
down that deep, dark hole of depression.

I know that I rise the victor after every fight, for in this fight, not winning means not rising.

My Krakken thinks I'm a waste of space.  Every fight we have is to the death -- literally.
It tries to convince me to give up, to give in, to surrender.

But I rise because some part of me is a fighter, a scrapper, a stubborn Celtic starseed
that will not surrender to the darkness.

And so I win.  I am winning.
Is this what winning means?  Does it mean winning over our own demon too?

I rose today to see goodness in the world.
I feel love and compassion,
I feel inspired for my future.

In happiness we celebrate;  in struggle we learn.