I refer, of course, to Churchill's 'black dog'. Not a real dog. I love dogs. I prefer dogs to most people. Fact.
I'm going to credit you with the intelligence to already know what I'm on about, but at the same time if I don't explain then I will have a nagging doubt throughout this post. I don't like nagging doubts. Winston Churchill used to call his bouts of depression the black dog.
I'm currently enjoying a bout of depression. It blows. Anything that's going wrong in your life, well, say goodbye to perspective and logic. And welcome in fear, horror and a constant feeling of being on the edge of Nietsche's abyss. And you know what happens if you keep looking down there.
It is, of course, ridiculous to suffer from depression isn't it? It's such a western disease. I bet starving people don't suffer from depression. Don't worry, I haven't turned into Liz Jones. I was just trying a ridiculous statement on for size.
Depression is real and it colours your life. It colours it black and then sometimes backs off and lets you breathe. But it tends to come crashing right back into you, sometimes out of the blue, sometimes in response to life events. I find the worst is it leaves me reeling and feeling that I can't see straight. I can't think straight, I don't trust my decisions, I can very easily fall into a jelly-like heap and, rather than ever feeling suicidal, just not really see the POINT of getting up again.
However, I am lucky. I am saved by people who love and care for me. Who listen to me even when I'm repetitive and tiresome and emotional and difficult. People who help me see another way. And they give me the strength to pick myself up and get on with it.
Today is different to yesterday. Strength is there, I can feel it. And I will get through this, just as I have every other time.
So cheers you lot, you all know who you are. I'm lucky to have you.
And you, black dog, fuck OFF, eh?