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…
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