Depression
In your weariness, you stand upon a steep hill covered in thick feet of snow.
When you tread upon it, the layers give way under your weight, sending you further down and farther from your goal. Each step is a battle against the depth of the snow and the grade of the hill; each attempt wearing down the strength you ought to have - twice as fast. And, if you fail to move, to straing against the grade, to push against the snow - you sink lower. Down into the icy depths you've stepped yourself into, until you cannot feel your feet or legs up to the point the cold air meets them. Then, should you try to move at all, you will only fall face forward into it, sinking wholly under any escape.
Atop that hill is the cliched golden city, and in your blue-white grasp are clearly the keys to unlock its gates. Your pockets have been packed with goods: sapphires, diamonds, rich wines, fine cheeses, silk scarves a goddess would envy, coins that total more than you could hope to count. And, you could reach in with your frozen hands to finger what you might still feel of such treasures, pull them out and gaze upon their shine and luster with bright eyes.
But they are no harbor from the cold. They are no stepping stone from the snow.
They cannot rise you from this dead.
Around you may be thers, sinking all alike in the snow. Others likewise drowning in the cold. And, you could raise your voice about the quiet to call our. You could speak and share in their plight - they in yours. You could beckon each other on were you to do so. You could cry out for help.
But their voices mingled with your's would not keep your knees above the snow. Would not keep your blood from the cold. Would not bring you from the trap.
When you tread upon it, the layers give way under your weight, sending you further down and farther from your goal. Each step is a battle against the depth of the snow and the grade of the hill; each attempt wearing down the strength you ought to have - twice as fast. And, if you fail to move, to straing against the grade, to push against the snow - you sink lower. Down into the icy depths you've stepped yourself into, until you cannot feel your feet or legs up to the point the cold air meets them. Then, should you try to move at all, you will only fall face forward into it, sinking wholly under any escape.
Atop that hill is the cliched golden city, and in your blue-white grasp are clearly the keys to unlock its gates. Your pockets have been packed with goods: sapphires, diamonds, rich wines, fine cheeses, silk scarves a goddess would envy, coins that total more than you could hope to count. And, you could reach in with your frozen hands to finger what you might still feel of such treasures, pull them out and gaze upon their shine and luster with bright eyes.
But they are no harbor from the cold. They are no stepping stone from the snow.
They cannot rise you from this dead.
Around you may be thers, sinking all alike in the snow. Others likewise drowning in the cold. And, you could raise your voice about the quiet to call our. You could speak and share in their plight - they in yours. You could beckon each other on were you to do so. You could cry out for help.
But their voices mingled with your's would not keep your knees above the snow. Would not keep your blood from the cold. Would not bring you from the trap.
4 Thought(s):
We are all waiting for someone to come along with snow shoes on and dig us out.
Beautifully written! Describes depression as I've experienced it very well. I just have a thought to ponder & share.
You write that sharing in each other's plight (also drowning) would not keep one from death because all are drowning. I agree it is not wise to follow the lost. However, it is also unwise to climb mountain alone. Instead, we first must find the right expedition for our climb.
Each climber/hiker has gone through different training (life experience) and many have brought along a varied collection of tools anchored to their belt. Alone, not one person can dig out once fallen but together, sharing tools, trading with each other... is it not possible to break free from the trap?
When we fall in the snowy drifts while walking together, perhaps one falls further and one not so far and perhaps one remains on the ledge. Somehow we need to figure a way to tether our lines together, knowing that we will be called on to share our tools... for at some point in the journey, it will be our turn to ask for assistance.
It is difficult to see clearly once we begin to sink. Our vision is blurred and skewed. Again, it is helpful to stay connected to trusted others who may have a better view. I agree with fateduel in a way. We do need to wait on snow shoes but it sure would be handy if another hiker in our party already had a pair.
I do not disagree with you. I merely wonder what you think about it, especially now 7 months later. i am interested because I have been lost in the snow before also. Just curious. :)
1Grl, your thoughts are very encouraging. I think sometimes the most disabling thing about depression is that we only see how deep we are in the snow and how deep others will fall if they come near. It is almost impossible, in these times, to find a way out. Sometimes, I fear that I wouldn't want to find it even if it were more readily visible.
I like your image of tethering together. I think this is a very valuable image. It creates a family, a small 'community' if you will, that is committed to keeping together, committed to helping together, committed to hoping together. And, while tethering might be dangerous for the party, it is certainly the best way to also ensure their safety.
Thank you for sharing this. I will keep it in my mind when the snow begins to fall again.
Fateduel & Ralikat
"in a way..."
Post a Comment
<< Home