The Black Cloak II

Yesterday was one year since I wrote this post.  For those who can’t be bothered clicking on the link, I’ve cut and pasted it here.  It’s called:

The Black Cloak

“Winston Churchill was definitely onto something by referring to his depression as the black dog.  For me, a “black cloak” is probably more befitting.  It’s definitely black, this heavy cloak that I wear.  When I’m wearing this cloak, nothing seems to be able to shift it.

My husband tries to remove it for me, but I pull it closer around me, as if to protect myself from feeling better.  Sometimes I feel comfortable in it.  Lost in it.  Almost as though I’m home.  Which is madness, right?  How could anybody feel comfortable feeling nothing…

And yet…”

It was one of my first posts on the Dilettante Diva Blog and as you can see it’s very short.  This was back before I started writing as much as I could, and including an image.

Clearly I wrote this ‘in the moment’.  You can feel it when you read it.  I wasn’t in a very good place when I wrote that post.  It’s so bleak and heavy and suffocating.  But that’s exactly how I feel when I’m having these moments.  When I’m wearing this black cloack.  It hangs around me like the proverbial albatross around my neck, and it takes days (sometimes) to shift it.  Often it will come on from something I’ve seen on television.  For the regular readers, you’ll remember my post about crying my contacts out whilst watching Love My Way.  That episode drove me down to the depths of my soul and I wallowed around there for almost a week.  I came up for air, and haven’t been able to watch another episode of Love My Way ever since.  Let’s call it self-preservation and leave it at that.

Apart from the Love My Way episode, I haven’t really worn the black cloak often lately.  There was a time, back in my 20’s when I regularly shrugged on the cloak and didn’t remove it for weeks.  I dropped weight.  A lot of weight.  Despite the fact that I was eating my normal amounts.  Rumours were going around my work that I was bulimic.  Somebody even told people she smelt vomit in the toilet after I’d been there.  None of it was true.  The truth was I was in a depressive funk, but when people don’t want to look very closely, they’ll see whatever they want to see.

But I’m better now.  I surround myself with positive people who love and care for me.   These are the kind of people who ask how you are, and actually wait for the answer.  The following people have been culled from my life (or contact has been severely limited): the whingers, the fatalists, the narcissists and the victims.  All gone!  And it’s cathartic.

I understand now that I am prone to depression.  I understand that there are steps I can take to try and avoid it.  But I also understand that sometimes “the only way out is through”.

I'm not alone here, I know I'm not.  So for anybody who's interested, next week is Mental Health Week (7-13 October).  There are some events happening around Queensland and you can find a list of events on the Mental Health Week website. 

Stay happy everyone.  And when you're not happy, know that it will pass.

xx

Image credit: Poofy / 123RF Stock Photo