The room with no doors
Depression is a room with no doors and windows.
Happy memories may be projected on the walls—a glittering sunrise—but the actual even lives in another universe.
You may go for a run and experience endorphins—I produce a lot of them. But your run will end in an unchanged dark.
Deep breathing—ahhh. Back in the bunker.
A nice glass of red wine? Ahhh—but now the bunker is darker for 48 hours.
Some day the entire structure might elevate from its rigorous foundation and love and light will pour in.
I don't know what to do to change the timing or intensity of that miracle. I feel like I've tried everything. All I can do is sit quietly and wait.
Happy memories may be projected on the walls—a glittering sunrise—but the actual even lives in another universe.
You may go for a run and experience endorphins—I produce a lot of them. But your run will end in an unchanged dark.
Deep breathing—ahhh. Back in the bunker.
A nice glass of red wine? Ahhh—but now the bunker is darker for 48 hours.
Some day the entire structure might elevate from its rigorous foundation and love and light will pour in.
I don't know what to do to change the timing or intensity of that miracle. I feel like I've tried everything. All I can do is sit quietly and wait.
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