First things first, this photo is actually from the previous holiday in which I started to feel that the black dog was starting to gnaw upon my doors once more.  I’ve known for a while that the signs of depression were creeping ever closer but I have been in utter denial.  Partially because I’ve been in the metaphorical hole so many times that I was sure that falling back in was impossible and partially, in all honesty, because I’m stubborn as fuck.  I have a tendency towards depression.  Always have.  Just writing those words makes me want to punish myself somehow but it’s true and always will be, no matter how many times I pretend to the contrary.  It’s a part of my make-up, these misfiring neural pathways and somehow I’m trying to own them.

I’m just back from a joyous few days in Portugal with an old friend who I knew I could trust with a bit of a meltdown and who wouldn’t judge.  I flew out with my daughter and was greeted with warm hugs and understanding and for the first time in over two years was able to fall asleep in someone’s arms.  It was so beautiful and relaxing and emotional to actually allow myself to just be held and sleep.  And that’s how the rest of the days progressed; playing with my daughter and beach trips galore followed by friend therapy, hugs and wine in the evening.  It took me all of 12 hours to start crying on him.  Sometimes, when you’re low, kindness is the thing that tips you over the edge…

Anyway, I must have known that this was coming as at some point, about a week ago, I got back in touch with my therapist who saw me through an extremely tough few years a long while ago.  In these times of black, she is almost the only person I trust and certainly the only person I feel I can legitimately sob to for an hour.  And that’s what I did today, on full moon, on Beltane on this turn of seasons and pagan festival of yore, I bawled my wee eyes out until we had a mini action plan and we had laughed that basically all I need to do for a modicum of sanity is plant some lettuce.  Sometimes what you need is really fucking simple.

Not that I’m saying lettuce is the answer to all psychological problems because you know, that would be ridiculous but actually, is there any situation that isn’t at least a little improved by getting your hands in earth and growing something?…  The thing is, I’m really happy as a mother.  I love my daughter, I love being able to spend this part of her early life with her and I’m grateful for every giggle and every snuggle.  I’ve just lost myself as an individual and have somehow allowed all of my tendencies to expect failure as standard to re-permeate my existence.  I have no job, I have no lover and I can’t even grow a fucking lettuce!

So, today, I see in Beltane with a whisky in hand and a tear in my eye and I pray that the blossoms of spring will carry me with them as they turn to the light and radiate it from within.  I search for surety within this flux, to know that I can reroute these neural pathways once again and to believe that I am worthy and I am enough and to run with the dreams I have and to believe that they too, are enough.  So for now, I’m taking all the Bach remedies that seem appropriate, sitting in lotus and drinking my national spirit and trying to access the strengths of ages past.  I do believe that recovery is entirely possible, perhaps it’s just time to accept that I need to balance potential relapse into my future.

Darkness is just the other side of light, it’s what comes before dreams…