Torment.

He is watching the sun catcher that hangs in his window.

It is a happy thing to watch, because of the bright yellows, oranges and greens of the daffodils, the trees and the sun in the lead glass picture. As the sun catches it, it magnifies the rays and it makes his room glow with warmth and colour.

The constant turning of the circle in the slight breeze is hypnotizing, and he keeps his eyes glued to it, but it leaves his mind free to wander.

He doesn't want to think, but has no idea how to stop his brain from doing just that.

He remembers the pictures all over the house that he grew up in. Pictures of him and his family – laughing, hugging, playing. His father throwing him up in the air, and he was laughing with an open mouth and his eyes squeezed shut from pure joy. His mother with her arms protectively around him and his sister, smiling softly. Happy pictures of good times. Now, it was only him and his mother.

Somehow his thoughts always go back to the pictures. It is as if his mind is desperately trying to grab hold of that happiness again, but it is always just out of reach.

He turns his head away from the window. He can feel the darkness start somewhere deep inside him again. He takes a few very deep breaths, trying to stifle the feeling, but it keeps coming.

Why is this happening to him?

He rolls onto his side and curls into a fetal position. He breathes in and out deeply and slowly, concentrating only on his breathing to calm himself down. It works for a while and then the feelings of fear and sadness washes completely over him, turning his sunny room into a dark place. He pulls a blanket over his head, and he can hear himself whimpering.

“Sam?”

At first he doesn't react to the soft voice.

“Sam?”

Slightly louder this time, with a soft touch to his shoulder.

Sam stirs under the blanket. After a while he slowly pulls the blanket off his head. It takes a minute longer for him to open his eyes and focus on his mother's face.

She sits down on the bed next to him and strokes his hair. He could feel himself starting to calm down a little bit.

For a long time his mom doesn't say anything, she just holds his hand with one hand, and strokes his hair with the other.

“Are you feeling better now?”

He nods yes, but strengthens his hold on her hand as if to say - 'don't let go yet'.

She sits quietly for some time, and then she softly asks him: ”Did you take your pills this morning?”

Another nod from Sam.

“Are you sure?”

This is not supposed to happen while he takes his meds. He knows it, and so does his mother.

He doesn't know how long his mom sat there, but eventually she says: ”I'm going to make us some tea, okay?”

He looks at her and gives a faint smile in answer. She kisses him on his head, and heads to the kitchen.

Sam turns his head and looks at his sun catcher again. The sunlight sparkles off it, and slowly Sam can feel the light spread through his body again.

When his mother comes back, he is sitting upright on his bed. She puts the tray on his desk, and pours a cup for each of them, adding milk and sugar.

She hands him his cup before she sits down on the chair, and picks up her own cup. After a few sips she smiles at him and says: “We'll have to go and see the doctor. Maybe he needs to adjust your medication.”

He nods, still without saying anything.

“Sam, we'll be fine. You'll be okay.”

He wonders how many times she has said that to him before. And he wonders if she still believes it. He certainly doesn't.

Later, they go for a leisurely stroll around the block. He enjoys being outside, feeling the sun on his back. He sometimes wishes he could crawl into the sun and stay there forever, always warm and always surrounded by light.

They have dinner at the table, talking about his sister and her two children, who lives too far away to be regular visitors. They only see each other two or three times a year. Then they talk about the garden, and winter that is on the way.

But at the back of their minds is the reality of Sam's life, the fact that his depression is getting worse despite the medication and visits to the psychiatrist, despite his mom's best efforts to help him feel better.

Sam does not like night time. That is when the demons come out. They taunt him and scare him. He sleeps with his bedside lamp on the whole night, but he can only really relax once the light of dawn starts to creep into his room.

He is always tired. Tired because he is not sleeping properly. Tired of taking pills. Tired of seeing his mom worried all the time. Just... tired.

He gets up when he hears his mother moving around the house. They have tea together, and some toast and cheese for breakfast. He then takes a walk outside, turning his face up to the sun. This is so much better than night time. He lingers for a while, then goes back inside to find out if he can help his mom with anything.

A few hours later, his mother comes into his room to tell him that she is going into town to do some grocery shopping and run a few other errands, and does he want to come with? He says no thanks. She gives him a hug and turns to leave.

“I love you mom.”

His mom stops and turns around, a smile on her face.

“I love you too, Sam.”

He gives her a smile, and settles himself comfortably on his bed.

His mother has been gone for about an hour, when the feeling starts again in the pit of his stomach. He does his normal deep breathing and he clutches his arms around his stomach, but it keeps building up to the point where it feels as if he is completely filled with darkness and despair. Still it keeps building.

After a while he starts panting and groaning. It feels as if his skin is under so much pressure that it might burst open any minute. He scratches at his arms and legs, but it brings no relief.

He cannot stand this excruciating pressure on his mind and body any longer. He gets up, goes to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at himself in the mirror. The eyes that look back at him are not his eyes. They are deep, dark pools of pain. He keeps looking at himself, trying his best to see something that isn't there anymore.

He goes to the kitchen, and takes another few deep breaths. Still no release. He selects one of the sharpest kitchen knives and goes back to his bedroom.

His mind is very focused now – he knows what he has to do to stop the pain.

Sam sits down on his bed and settles himself comfortably against his pillows, half sitting. Very deliberately, he takes the knife, presses it down on his left wrist, and cuts. Immediately the blood spurts out, and he quickly changes hands, does the same on the other side.

He looks at the dark blood flowing out of him. He can feel the pressure in his body easing slowly. He puts his head back on the pillow and sighs deeply.

Sam focuses his eyes on the sun catcher. The light catches it perfectly and colours bounce against the walls of his bedroom and onto his bed, dancing around him. He smiles slightly, because he can feel the dark demons of depression leaving him forever.

As he starts slipping into another kind of darkness, he sees a very bright light ahead, and he gladly follows it.