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You know those times when the world is grey and you spiral into darkness and you’re incapable of doing anything so you just lie in bed and stare at the wall … ?

Sometimes you have to really claw your way back out. I used to wonder what would happen if I didn’t bother to climb back out. What if I just kept falling, let everything fall away and fall apart, would I fall through the bottom of the pit to come out the other side of the darkness into … what? Death? Or just a different grey world?

But then I never did it because I always thought I’d never be able to pick up the pieces again.

Except now I wonder … isn’t that what happens every time? It isn’t like you come back from depression all happy and refreshed and better than ever, like it never happened.

Maybe it isn’t a pit, like I always imagined. Maybe it’s a tunnel. It’s dark and horrid inside, and blinding and painful when you emerge, but you haven’t fallen. You’ve just walked through to the other side. And you didn’t suffocate or drown on the way.

 

I actually wrote this yesterday but didn’t post it because … well, I don’t know. It wasn’t funny and I felt like it was too personal. But I showed it to Brad and he said I should share it, because it’s a lovely metaphor, and probably because he’s relieved I’m not sinking into the pit anymore.