Sunday Secret

islandWhen my depression swoops in over me I feel like a wayward island. No anchor to the ocean floor, no density to keep me from drifting—just a sense of wide open, dangerous space that I have no idea how to fill up.

I’m made up of chemicals and remnants of stars, I know that, but in the midst of the enveloping ocean of grey that overcomes me I simply can’t see straight.

I try to conjure up energy. I try to rally up my forces but, in the midst of all the too blue water I feel paralyzed. And so I sit with it. I sit with my indecision and inability to conquer and move and create.

But there are those moments, in the midst of all I feel that is unmoving and stagnant, when I get a two second glimpse of all that surrounds me which my brain interprets as all that is possible and I hunker down one more time with my game plan and I tell myself that all will be well if I just keep my eyes open and my heart moving forward.

Yours In So Much Yada-Yada,
Harriet Hopeful

5 Comments on "Sunday Secret"

  1. PJ says:

    I hear you, Cupcake. And I feel what you say. And I rejoice in that photo. If I ever find a good solid anchor with a rope long enough to reach the ocean floor I’ll pick one up for you, too.

  2. Dear Cupcake,

    To encourage those glimpses of the possible, here’s a photo of Lombardy Poplar trees, which have extremely deep roots–maybe even deep enough to anchor an island:

  3. Cupcake Murphy Cupcake Murphy says:

    Thank you both you wonderful people. xoxo