Recently, we had a serious cold snap. Unfortunately, one of our sprinkler pipes burst. I would like to take the blame for this one, but — well — that kind of stuff isn’t my department. 🙂 Besides, my department jobs have been seriously neglected, so I shouldn’t point fingers.
When my mom visited, she brought a little rat with her, in the form of a Chihuahua. No offense to you Chihuahua owners/lovers–but that little guy was smaller than my Mastiff’s head. We all took turns walking the little critter because he’s hawk bait. I’ve seen the hawks hover around our bird feeders, waiting for the Mourning Doves…those birds are slow, and are challenged flyers, so they make a great fast food meal. My mom’s dog is smaller than the doves.
So, one of those cold mornings, prior to ingesting enough of my life source, I took the bait out for his morning business. There was a place on the driveway that appeared wet, and was icing over. I had to do some investigating to find the source, and turn off the water, which should have already been shut off.
Without being fully juiced with coffee, I walked across the ice several times. I had to fall three times before I learned my lesson—slow learner.
The last time, I fell on my right knee, but managed to get the top of my foot involved, which created one of those crappy kind of scabs that pulls every time that part of the body is moved.
That scab is annoying me.
It’s like the scab over my soul.
Is that what happens when we are depressed? Do the medications keep the scab, which is constantly pulling—reminding us what the original pain feels like? To suck us back into the dark?
Today is one of those days where the scab is working at my resolve. Can depression be held at bay simply by bombarding my brain with positive thoughts, funny movies, filling my day with activities so that I have no time to think or feel?
Are therapy and medications a band aid? What about all the effort I have been putting into my recovery?
Eventually, the scab on my foot will dissolve, however due to the old lady skin I have acquired, I know it will leave a scar. I have many scars like this because I’m a little challenged in the grace department.
I know that the scabs created by depression will eventually dissolve, leaving behind scars.
Something I have learned through this process, is that I’m strong, I actually believe in myself and my abilities. I like the person I’ve become. This belief is due to lots of therapy after reaching a rational, mostly clear brain, it didn’t happen overnight. It is only now that I can write about it.
The scars that have been left on my body have only added character. Each one attached to a memory. Some of them amusing, some of them I’m ashamed of. Not a one of them has changed my beauty. (ooo, a tough one to admit–my own beauty?)
The scars that have been left behind from depression will be a bit tougher to overcome. Some, I have no memory of, and I would like to keep it that way. They aren’t visible on the outside, but they still exist. Just as I can laugh at some of my anxieties, maybe one day I can find humor inside the depression, which is highly unlikely. However, just like the scars on the outside, not a one on the inside has changed the beauty within. That can never be taken by depression—I won’t let it.