Depression runs deep and wide.
Age does not even matter. The longer it marinades, the bitter its torpefying asylum.
I have met many of its subscribers and empathize quite well just because I have gone through my own deep dark night.
Call it whatever you want, it stays rigid to its screw: It seeks to stub out life.
I know this not from a distance but sourced from an unusual discovery of profundity. There are two divergent paths from the dumps. Either you surrender to its assault or you turn to the only One who can redirect its raid.
I have experienced both. The former courts your demise. The latter enlivens your soul.
There is an invisible war that rages within. I am left with a choice. To defect from my emaciating gloom or switch to faith toward a Mentor who seeks enrollment from the weary.
I follow the Teacher who leads me to a Crossroad of suffering that leaks to an oasis.
I choose not to rest in peace. I rest in Christ, its Prince.
Photography by Renchi Arce : Art and Soul