O disheartening Dysthymia, dour and dishonest,
unloved and unwanted daughter of ashen Achlys,
who carries the torch for Thanatos, whose sole friend is Lyssa,
you who hate the rest of the Gods and revile all spirits,
which drives you to try and distract mankind from our divine service
stirring up in us resentment, pollution, apathy and other things
that keep us from approaching holy altars and sacred images,
and the trustworthy traditions that have been carefully passed down to us.

Against you stands Dionysos the joybringer, banisher of cares,
the one who stitches back together broken hearts,
and lifts those suffering from despair out of the slimy pit,
cleansing us of the muck and mire that clings to us
so that we may again shine as brilliantly as the stars in Heaven
with love for the Blessed Immortals and the life that has been given to us.

Flee, faithless fiend, for you shall not prevail!
Flee, feckless farrago, as everyone you’ve ever cared for has fled from you!
Flee, fumbling fool, or suffer your well-earned fate!

O Dysthymia, you who make the eyes of the sorrowing red
from a deluge of tears, and hollow our cheeks from forgetfulness
of the body’s needs; your power over us is broken, and Dionysos
will tear loose any hooks you still have in us, so that you can never
again darken our thoughts or torment our flesh.

O Dysthymia, you who make the grieving experience inescapable
isolation even in the midst of a crowd of friends and loved ones;
do you think your constricting walls are stronger than those of Pentheus’
Kadmean citadel which came crashing down when Dionysos roared,
freeing his madwomen trapped within? They are not!

O Dysthymia, who lays heavily upon the mourner like some
hideous hag, causing us to hunch our back and drag our foot,
assuming we can even find the strength to get out of bed;
Dionysos will pick you off like a speck of dust and fling you
so far away that you never find your way back to us again,
while we dance in celebration atop the forested mountain,
all the aches and pains you caused gone and forgotten.

O Dysthymia, who steals joy and courage, and fills the mind with fear
for things that have not yet happened and likely never will;
Dionysos has locked the doors of our ears and given us his potent
wine to drink, a healing drug that restores what you took from us.

O Dysthymia, who drains the color and vividness from experiences,
so that life feels stale and unreal; Dionysos will wake us up to the
wonders that surround us, and make things even more surreal.

O Dysthymia, who recreates for us the worst parts of the story of our
life over and over again, making it impossible to move on; Dionysos
can shatter the bonds that keep your own dolorous past repeating,
and help you to become all of the things that you could have been
had trauma not warped you, Dysthymia, if you would just agree
to leave humans alone and no longer interfere with our practice of piety.
Dionysos is a kind and generous God when not provoked; submit to him.