Waves of depression

I feel movement, direction and speed, but isn’t it just back and forth, back and forth all the time?

Drawing by me

Some days I just cruise on the waves of depression, trying to navigate my ship to avoid crashing into anguish’s rocks. A storm is part of the journey, and a calm, warm sail is, and a dark ocean night is part of it too. Too many dark nights, however, have fallen on my voyage. Too weak to hold the helm, too strong to surrender and let the sea drown me – and so I float between life and death, not fully realised but never completely diminished.

Life is a perpetual adjustment – fishing on a boat for the fish of new opportunities. War is the same only that you have to fish for dead fish in a dry lake. I see how people survive by imagining the lake as deep, blue, beautiful and full of resources.

An optimist’s lake is at least half-full?

It might be so.

I’m either a pessimist or I see the true, unfiltered lake of drought. I walk the dry land, poke dry earth for worms and throw stones in bursts of anger at scorpions lurking around me. My mind can’t fill this lake with water. One thing I realize about myself is that my imagination blooms in abundance and not in poverty. And when my imagination doesn’t bloom, I feel sad, incompetent, lonely and…