The Fight

Fighting… fighting… in the ring, face bloodied, body bruised. I am fighting. I will not submit, I will not go down. I will fight, until the end. I will hold on until the very end. I am weak, I am weary. I want to fall. I fight. This battle will not take me, I will overcome. The sweat drips down my face and drips, drips onto the floor where I stand. My eyes are swollen, it is hard to see and my face is red from impact. I have been knocked down, but I keep getting up. Waiting for the end. Waiting for the time when the bell rings. My arms swing aimlessly trying to hit my enemy, trying to keep from being hit. I look like a fool, standing here, but I do not care! I will not go down. I will fight!


I can barely make out my enemy now, standing on the other side of the ring. Lights blare in my eyes, people yell in my ears. All I see is its face, all I hear are its words. I swing, I duck, I weave; hoping to keep from being knocked out. “Till the end, till the end” I yell. I will not give in, I will not give up. My body breaks, I reach for something to hold me up, keep me standing. My enemy comes near and I brace for impact.

The faint voices of the announcers, the loud chants of the spectators and the intense words of the coaches mesh into one sound. I cannot make them out. All I see is the enemy, all I hear is its voice. I can smell the foul stench in my nostrils with a burn. My eyes tear up from the quiet violence it brings. I am not afraid, so I stand. I take the beating. I am starting to fall. I grab for something, anything, but nothing is in my way.

Slowly this broken body begins to ascend. Like a tree that has just been cut, my body slowly falls in beautiful irony and bounces on the ground with a loud thud. Blood swirls around my face and I try to make out where I am, what chances I have to survive. I feel relieved to be able to lie down and rest. I feel peaceful. Seconds that fade quickly into the sounds of those around me yelling at me to, “get up, get up!” I can barely make out what is being said. I close my eyes to sleep. I want to sleep. I want to rest. This fight has gone on too long, it has taken so much of me. I want to give up and surrender, so that my body can heal, so that my mind can rest.

Then the warm breath of my enemy touches my cheek. I cringe at the thought of its satisfaction. I squirm at the notion of its sweet victory over me. Its sweat drips onto my forehead and the faint sound of mocking laughter burns my ears. I have to get up. I have to fight. I have nothing left to give, I am battered and torn and disfigured. “Get up!” My ears pick up. “Get up!” My body shakes with pain and agony spills out of my lips. My body begins to move, and I am convulsing in terror. I reach up to grab some help and feel the ropes. I move, like a snail across the road, I move. In slow progression the rest of my body follows. Slipping and stumbling on my own sweat and blood, I fight to get up, to stand. One by one the parts of my body move in perfect harmony, as if being added to an orchestra in play. “Get up!” Its loud now, from many places, in many tones. I can hear it clearly.

My hands flail around grasping for some support. My legs push me up as my arms support my upper body. With one last push I am up! The hum of people around me is too great to take in. I ignore it, look around for a face that will embrace my brokenness, that will affirm my decision. I see it. The face of love. Without a word that face holds me up so that I can keep fighting. I breathe in a deep breath of faith, lift my hand up above my head and declare to my enemy standing on the other side of the ring, “YOU ARE GOING DOWN DEPRESSION, YOU ARE GOING DOWN!”