Sky

Well it's been three days and the sky still seems to be holding up. The Globe and Mail suggests that some major world events are converging on catastrophe, but still the sky stays up for now. I float heavily through the days, not looking up much, but when I do the sky is still there.

In front of me is a grey, gauzy veil. Things look mostly like the darker, broken parts of themselves. If you have ever faced depression, you know this experience. One can no longer see what is, particularly as it relates to personal perspective.

I am sane. I can work. I can help others. But, I am loathe to help myself. It will shift eventually, but to endeavour to describe what it is now seems a meaningful human effort.

In front of me, but largely beyond my reach, is so much love. Love outward, love inward. My daughters' delicious silliness and seriousness both. My partner's abiding. My father's abiding—the longest history of all. I know. I see. I have gratitude. Just my armour is thick, limits my permeability.

I walk on. I do not settle into the dangerous non-space of self-pity (though I do have my moments). But while depression can be a comforting cocoon, it is also a steely stuckness. The thing is to keep looking up from time to time, to note the sunshine, even if I can't feel it.