Thought Picnic: The fog of depression

Clouds and mists

The warning signs are so easily missed as the rut one finds oneself in beclouds every opportunity to find sense of purpose or direction.

Things are immediate and swirling as the need to put the best foot forward is scuppered by circumstances that seem to be overbearing.

You realise you need a breather of sorts, some escape from the environment that has become a kind of routine, a place to think and break-out.

Mid-life crisis some people call it, it does happen, in other cases the roots are deeper in what has become a long-tail of disease.

Groping for freedom

Beneath it all, the force of hope beats like a heart doing its best to keep the blood flowing in a body that is suffering from hypothermia, the extremities are numb and only time will tell if the rescue is soon enough to prevent demise.

The breather is given in a number of choices; a pill, the chemical means of bringing some balance to help see things better; a break, to somewhere far away and new like doing the seriously irresponsible in a gamble to capture a semblance of responsibility the gathered midst having cleared to see beyond your nose.

Professionals might even do a better job, the fear of therapy needs to be consigned to agnostic oblivion, there are many things that need talking about with coaches that can help assess the patterns and discard the dross.

Light and poor visibility

What is worse is not realising that you might well be deep in depression and not know it; it takes an observer to notice and hopefully lend you a hand to pull you out the pit.

The light will never die but in the fog of distress and adversity, you may not see enough to feel your way out. There are things that need sorting out, a real sorting out.