Our cries are silent.
Our tears run red.
Listen for the words,
That are not said.
Our wounds run deep.
Our fears well hid.
Look for the signs,
Our veiled grievances bid.
Schledia Phillips
I wrote the above poem for the dedication of my book Wildflowers. Every writer cannot help but inject pieces of their own heart into their writings. It happens without thought on a subconscious level. Our pains and our struggles reveal themselves through the pen---the keyboard in today's world. It is a way, I suppose, of uncovering those veiled grievances, a way of trying to share with those you love what is truly going on in your heart and mind. Read a writer's work and you often gain an understanding of where the author has been and where they presently are in their life. You may even see where they hope to one day be in the future.
Depression is something I know about more than I care to acknowledge, but my depression has never been from any sort of chemical imbalance. There are many forms of depression, including situational depression. There are also many forms of abuse. Wildflowers (the book for which the poem was written) deals with the subject of abuse. Most people look for bruises and broken bones, but verbal and emotional abuse don't leave visible marks. The bruises left by those two forms of abuse are on the soul, and it is the heart that is often shattered or broken.
"Our cries are silent...listen for the words that are NOT said..."
People close to me knew I struggled with depression, yet my cries were silent. You may be asking yourself, what do I mean by that? While others may have been able to see my melancholy state at times, I hid the whys from everyone. Surely you've heard the phrase, "suffer in silence." Often times people suffering from depression or abuse do just that. They suffer in silence.
"Our fears well hid. Look for the signs..." It is a plea for someone to look and see that fear is there, yet it is being hid. Everyone trapped in any form of depression and/or abuse desperately wants to be rescued! I wanted to be rescued. God was the only one who heard my heart's cry. He is the only one I trusted to be completely open and honest with. I am a Christian, but I had seen too many who claim the name run around gossiping about others, so I held my pain inside, and I cried out to the one who formed me and knew my situation. He knew what no one else did. He knew my heart and the pain it had endured. He knew the brokenness of my life, despite the mask I put on for others to see. He heard even my silent cries and saw the blood in them from my brokenness. He heard the words I refused to speak. He saw the deepness of my wounds and the fears buried in them. He saw the signs and pulled back the veil, revealing my heart's grievances. God knew, and He loved me when others have shunned me and turned a cold shoulder to me. I'm thankful that God is God and humans are not because, despite a human's flawed nature and oftentimes their own past and struggles, they still cast stones and inflict pain and bruises on those longing to be healed.
God heard my cries, and He answered my prayers. There came a day when He handed me a key. It was a key that unlocked the prison door of my situation. And then He gave me the choice to use that key. It was frightening to shove that key in the keyhole, and I trembled as the door creaked open, but once it swung open wide and I stepped out into the sunshine and freedom, the dark veil that shrouded my life was lifted. I have been set free!
If you are trapped in a prison of depression and/or abuse, you are not alone. There is a key to your prison door. I know it's frightening to imagine what might be on the other side of that door, but I assure you (as someone who walked through that door) it is worth unlocking and stepping through.
Be blessed and be made whole,
Schledia Phillips
