Sometimes depression comes calling. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore, because it creeps, quietly, slowly, taking it’s time. One door at a time, you enter in, initially unaware of the game, until eventually it sucks you in and you’re lost to the labyrinth within.
Feel familiar? Hm, I know this beast too. In fact, as I write this today, I sense it’s pull.
It’s a lethargy. A senselessness. A numbness that tries to take over the senses. The body wearies and the eyes become laden. The mind, sodden with claggy, muddy half-born concepts. The heart grows colder, isolating itself from the pulse of the mind, eventually taking you down and over the edge.
I write these things, not to scare, or to torture the psyche, but to reveal the occasional inward workings of my mind. I write these things to remain transparent.
I too suffer.
Sometimes for just a short while, a few hours perhaps. Other times I am not so fortunate and days go by before I realise how long I’ve been wandering around the labyrinth.
I write these things for you who know this place.
Rolling down the hill into a depressed state is not something easily understood. It’s not something that can really be categorised. It’s not even something that you can truly recognise each time, as it wears so many faces.
It is a chageling, a chameleon, morphing itself to suit your current circumstances.
It is wily, and therefore we must be wily too. On guard, day to day, minute by minute, we must stand against the assault.
Aware, awakened and alert.