If you haven't noticed, I struggle, fight, and tussle with depression. Only I don't call it that. I call it my Black Dog, in reference to the incomparable Winston Churchill. During the spring I grappled with the Black Dog, and I won, for a little while. It's a constant war with minor battles going to one party or the other. And now I find I have turned my back on him for too long. He's bitten me again, only it's gentle. There's no blood, just a bruise. Just his teeth on my throat reminding me he's always there. Only this time I don't feel the overwhelming urge to wallow in uselessness, I am merely saddened by events in my life. They aide the Black Dog in catching me with my guard down. They put me in bed in tears for all that has occurred, for all that I have lost and am missing. I almost, almost didn't go to work yesterday for want of staying in my bed. However I find my spirit is strong and stubborn, two factors that have helped me fight the Dog for so long. I stubbornly walked up the hill to where I catch my bus, had a cup of coffee and wrote in my journal for the better part of an hour and a half. It eased the ache inside, just watching my hand put letters on the page, pouring out my inner thoughts and emotions. I was able to go to work, and perform decently, and was blessed with laughter. Sweet, carefree laughter. I would have rather gone home to my lover that night, than to my own bed, but not yet.
I woke today to see that Fall has officially arrived. The leaves turned without my knowing. The fog blankets Puget Sound, and all is chilly and perfect woolen sweater weather. Perfect to curl up with a good book, a cat, some knitting, hot cocoa and company and just be. Take time to be.
