I love the ocean. I love the smell if it, the sound of it, I love gazing into it, I live swimming in it, wading in it, running shrieking from it because it is too cold.
I remember visiting the coast in a childhood visit to England. I was fascinated by the tide. I couldn’t see it creeping up, I couldn’t see that each wave rose higher than the one before. Over time I could see it though, pick a spot and over time it would be approached and then occasionally licked and then wet every wave and then never not wet and finally under water. I would then pick a new spot and watch the same thing happen.
This us how my depression happens. I don’t even notice the tide turning, but all of a sudden I see that the water is higher than before. So I pick my spot and try mentally to turn back the tide, done times I can, sometimes I win. Lots, though, lots I don’t. I see my spot consumed, and I look for a new spot.
My first spot is my snapping at foolish things, over reacting to minor grievances. The second is the dull unrelenting headache, the third is treating my wife badly.
I fight against it, but it us hard to push back the tide, there is no handle to grab, no wall to build. I long to return to normal, fearful always that I will not go all the way back.
Depression is an enemy that makes skirmishes into my mind, it attacks and retreats seeking my weaknesses, hoping I won’t notice until I am underwater.
Today I have no headache, I have not snapped at the otherwise unnoticeable, I am ok. I am however always mindful that the tide will return, it has no choice. Drawn by unseen forces it will battle for ground.
Maybe I don’t like the ocean as much as I thought I did.