Depression is an ocean.
For some it's like the waves, ebbing and flowing, ever persistent and never-ending. Some waves are small and insignificant, barely making a mark in the sand, while others are huge and cataclysmic, wreaking havoc on anything in its path. Some days are gentle and others are terrifying. Some days feel easy as pie until the riptide sucks you in without warning.
For others, it's the deep. The ever-expansive blue-grey that threatens to drown you as soon as you give up the fight to keep afloat. There's familiarity in the constancy, in the gentle tugging as it pulls you this way and that, because what are you amongst an ocean?
What I've noticed is that while I've felt my depression as both of these, I never account for the sky. I'm too busy looking at patterns in the waves, wondering if today will be peaceful. I'm too busy shoving the fear and relief of giving up the fight to stay above water to the back of my mind. My mind is centered, so I never look up. I don't see the black clouds above me until they're adding another front to the war in my head.
/sigh/ Sorry for getting so...poetic, guys. I'm just not feeling so hot today.
