Winston Churchill likened depression to a black dog. One day, it would walk into his room, stand in the corner, and there was very little he could do to get rid of it.
I used to have proper depression, although I’ve been ‘clear’ now for seven years. However, I have noticed a creeping shadow come into my life over the last couple of years. The recent documentary about Stephen Fry’s manic depression on BBC TV helped crystallize where I’m at: I don’t have Depression with a capital D, but there is something in the corner of my room that I need to be aware of. I am in a ‘depressive episode’, with lethary, anxiety attacks but no thoughts of sucide. I am not in the midst of a proper depression (and believe me, I know what proper depression feels like).
I suppose this is just an excuse to tell myself that, for now, keeping a tidy house doesn’t matter. I need to concentrate on my health, to give my body the energy to fight the malaise.
I will keep ‘Tidy My House’ on my 43 Things list. But in the meantime, I have a “black dog” to look after. It’s a small dog, thankfully, but it’s something I need to keep in check.
