Today’s score – 19%

I have been up and down this last year, navigating bumps and swells.  It left me depleted of words to be able to write.  Something I enjoyed was left to a dry pen.

Lately, a bigger swell and bump splintered me across the ground.  And the oversized iron cloak came out of the wardrobe, placed arms on my shoulders, holding me down and keeping me company.  It’s a weird friend.  Wanting to stick with your every move in its support role, whilst taking every drop of oxygen in the process.  To say I’m sad to be back there is an understatement.  The more we know about depression the more we can fear its hold.  Because we know how rough and cold and long and dark a place it is.  And how lonely the walk back out of it is.  Tears now.

I have made an appointment for counselling.  I think it will be my third visit in 24 years.  I’ve never had success with pills.  I know my depression is very much influenced by my daily life and mind first, and that going in there is going to be the quickest of all the slow ways out.

Tentatively, I have decided I’ll also have a go at writing my way out.  This is a bit tricky because the depression of mood can mean I might want to whinge and moan and babble on about problems instead of solutions.  And its only solutions that can fix things.  But I’ll have a whirl.  I’ll set myself the goal and selfishly pull you in to try to give me an anchor point. 

Why did the words ‘anchor point’ make my eyeballs fill with tears just now?  Maybe because free falling is lighter and anchoring requires tension.  I have so many tears queuing and sometimes it feels I could drown in them, so I dam them in over and over.  I don’t want to open the gate.  And counselling will take me there.  It’s a dreadful feeling knowing there is no choice.

But there we are.

The choice is do it, or don’t.

Accept it and choose one.

Then, onwards.

Love from 

The room above the garage

A Moodscope member