Author’s Note
I wrote Schrödinger’s Depression during a period when my inner world felt suspended—when I was functioning on the surface while quietly unraveling underneath. I was fascinated by the idea of existing in two opposing states at once: alive enough to move through the world, but emotionally absent enough to feel untethered from it.
The metaphor of Schrödinger’s cat gave me language for that limbo—the way depression can make you feel both present and unreachable, breathing yet hollow, seen yet unseen. This poem isn’t about resignation so much as endurance. Even inside the box, something persists.
Revisiting it now, I recognize it as one of many moments where my writing became a survival mechanism—naming the paradox instead of pretending it didn’t exist.
Schrödinger’s Depression
Poetry by Rowan Evans
In this box, I dwell, unseen, unheard,
Both alive and dead, a paradox deferred.
I am Schrödinger’s Cat, in my own dismay,
Trapped in shadows, night and day.
Alive in the motions, but dead in the soul,
A hollow existence, a fractured whole.
Every breath I take, a silent scream,
Lost between the seams of a broken dream.
My mind, a labyrinth, with no escape,
A maze of despair, where hope fades to wraith.
Eyes that see, yet fail to perceive,
The vibrant colors of life, I cannot believe.
Heart beats on, a hollow drum’s thrum,
But inside, a void where emotions are numb.
Walking through life, a ghost in disguise,
A shell of a person, with lifeless eyes.
I exist in this state, a cruel design,
Both here and not, in a tangled line.
Alive enough to feel the pain,
Dead enough to know it’s all in vain.
I am the paradox, the living dead,
A prisoner of thoughts that fill my head.
Drowning in an ocean of silent despair,
Reaching for a lifeline that’s never there.
Some days, the light filters through the cracks,
A fleeting glimpse, but the darkness always tracks.
It swallows me whole, a ravenous beast,
Feasting on my soul, never ceasing, never least.
Alive in the struggle, dead in the heart,
A fractured existence, torn apart.
Schrödinger’s Depression, a relentless tide,
Dragging me under, where shadows abide.
In this box, I am trapped, forever confined,
Both living and dying, a state undefined.
Yet somehow, I persist, in this duality’s snare,
Schrödinger’s truth, in this life of despair.
If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]
Poetry by Rowan Evans 