When you’re right down in it

You can see no way out

You can see only dark

Inky blackness seeping through


When you’re in the middle

Of a muggy treacle puddle

Hanging onto some hope

Is all you can manage


My fingernails cling to

A crumbling despair filled goo

I forget who I am

And who I belong to


He calls out – REMEMBER

Lean back, and hold on

Cling to me, precious daughter,

Cling to me.


Treacle {walking}


I want to blast the horn

And bang timbrel and drum

I want to blow the trumpet

To shout Jesus is Lord in my life


Inside, in my heart, I can dance

Proclaiming from the rooftops

Shouting out with joy

Resounding through the air


And I am a believer

I know that it is His chest I lean back on

It is His arms around me in protection

It is Him that strokes my hair


But I am stuck

Stuck in this mud filled swamp

Some days I can barely breath

Let alone shout.


Just like the psalmist of old

I cry out in the darkness

I plead for this distortion to leave

Over and over I cry out His name


I see the people around me

With their bubbly, friendly smiles

And yet I can’t connect

A treacle barrier persists


One day I shall jump up

I shall leap in praise of the Lord

But today I thank God He is with me

Keeping me safe and sound


I am being stretched but not shattered

There is a strain on my heart as I fumble

In the dark to move to His rhythm

I am sitting in the middle of a storm


I have no ship, no boat

Not even a rudder

I am tossed around with the waves

But I surrender all to Him who knows best


Today I choose to live, to live in Christ

Today I choose to sit in this mire

Until He lifts me up, lifts me out

And places me once more on the solid rock.

…wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured. — Colossians 4:12


How Low Can You Go?

The low ebb is descending

A rhyme from a pop song

Reverberates the background

It’s melodic chant daring her lower

Tiredness all around    no respite

Sleep deprivation increases the tome

No good news    war    sickness

No puppy dog tales   only poverty

Take it to the chorus    litany of woe

Shutters coming down

Closing up shop

Humanity good bye

Sign off   gone for a while

I’ll be in bed

Rhythmic clapping

Stomping feet

C’mon Eileen

Darkness surrounds

No white light

Judgement descends       how long to stay

Am I ready to depart or  interlude

Difficult decision in trance-like mode

Get it wrong       county homeward bound

Heaven can wait let’s breathe      in

Suzie Gallagher

This was written some time ago, based on the song “how low can you go” which in turn was about that game where you shimmy under a stick, going lower and lower. I thought it interesting to have such an upbeat tune in my head whilst writing about my friend’s depression. She would descend into the pit for weeks, not opening even her curtains, not getting dressed or washed, eating very little and scared of being cast into the local mental institution. She always thought she would die in such a place so would drag herself up out of the pit before the “sheriff” turned up at her door. She may well have been a prophetess, as she did indeed die in the county home of natural causes at an appropriate age, but what she was most scared of, of entering the home, when the time came for her to pack she actually looked quite excited about the prospect. She was a lovely quiet, shy soul and I miss her sometimes when the weather turns grey and I wonder “How low could I go?”