Imagine you're standing on a hill.
You're looking down on a town. You can see everything in pin-sharp detail. The buildings, the shops and homes. Cars moving along the streets. You can hear the activity; the town hall clock striking, maybe even the traffic if you're close enough. The wind tugs at your cheek. You can smell flower scent carried on the air. Maybe that bakery on the corner is putting out some enticing smells. You can almost taste it.
Now imagine you're in a room, and someone has just given you a photograph of that same scene. There's no perspective; it's literally two-dimensional. The picture's a little indistinct and it's tricky to pick out any detail. It's a moment frozen in time.
That's a little how I find living with a bout of depression. Essentially, you're seeing the same view, but only getting 10% of it. You're not living life, you're just looking at some of it.
It's perhaps not the most elegant of analogies, but it works for me. And the cruellest thing of all? When you're looking at the picture, you're being reminded of what's missing. You know what it was like to be on that hill, all senses buzzing in that moment. But you can't get to it.
You're just sat there in an airless room with a photograph. It's your "look what you could have had" moment. And that hurts. To an extent that you just don't feel like doing anything.
Over the last couple of years I haven't been as honest with myself as I could have been. When I was having depressive episodes, I'd just try and man-up and get on with things. So I'd be floating through life, not doing the things I used to enjoy, just existing. I used to write. Sing in a choir, act on stage, cycle ridiculous distances for fun. But not now, I'm not experiencing life, just observing it. Oh yes, I laugh and smile and try to be happy. Because I know what it's like to be miserable and don't want the people around me to feel like that.
But this morning I stopped. After another long night of looking at the photograph and remembering what it was like to experience the view. Instead of girding-up and going to work, I texted my boss. I'm not right, I said. Can I work from home today?
His reply was immediate. You're not working today. Take the time to rest. Recover properly.
I slept soundly for five hours - that kind of 'delicious' sleep where you wake up feeling fresher. It's the first time for a long time that's happened. I haven't opened up the laptop or checked the work phone.
I'm not sure if I've turned a corner here. But I think I'm getting closer to some form of realisation. I don't want to just be looking at photographs any more.
