As you’ll possibly know (since it’s all I seem to be able to write about) I’ve been wading through treacle, waist high, for some weeks. It has been my experience in the past that the end of the school year can mince me! But, since ‘normality’ has been held in suspended animation for some time, I more expected to cruise through into summer. There is the key word – expectation.
Somewhere after Easter, and well before the end of the summer term, I fell into a ditch when I had expected to dance around it wearing flowers in my hair! If we are to have half a chance of having the upper hand with our state of mind, then perhaps expectation must be ditched. Expectation (not to be confused with hope or aims) can give us a false sense of ourselves, a mark to fall short of.
This week I knew the tank was going into the red. All usual attempts, over countless weeks, at lifting myself out of the ditch had failed. So I had a go at punching my way out. Sink or swim. I did two days of hard labour clearing a garden with my dad. It has been scorching sunshine and it might have been bordering on stupid. But the slot was there, and the rain was not. My body feels its labours! It turns out depression didn’t like it one bit. I swam. Seems I now have that iron shadow by the throat. It’s not over but I certainly claimed a stake.
They say every day is a school day. I learned that I had more in the tank than I expected.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.
p.s. Thank you for holding on to me this spell. I know I’ve met none of you, but your calm presence has been both strong and powerful.
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