Imagine a lovely pot of perfect soup; beer cheese, beef stew, clam chowder, simmering gently on the front burner. Maybe rolls warming in the oven, the table nicely set with crudites, soft butter, and those new flat bottomed bowls that are more like plates. All is carefully ready for a truly delightful lunch.
Who am I kidding, any way? Or trying to appease? Too much salt has ruined the chowder, the rolls are freezer burned and rubbery from the microwave, and the table is stacked with dishes from yesterday, if not last week.
That annoyingly simplistic pharmaceutical ad asks, "What Does Depression look Like." Followed by a parade of somber folks sitting lumpily on the sidelines of life. Each could easily be identified by the imaginary 'life sucks' banner that hangs over their heads. Frankly, it would be great if I could be that out there with my internal world. I say I am hanging in there, I act happy, I do normal things. Do I have people fooled? What does despair look like? What does rage look like?
I am tired. The deep in my bones kind that sleep doesn't touch. I am sad. And, for once, I can't seem to find words to express it. I am bored, lonely, etc., etc., etc. Who wants to hear it. I certainly don't.
I'd rather have a lovely cup of soup and a slice of crusty warm bread with a pretty linen napkin tucked under my chin.
So, paste on smile (check); rehearse the appropriate and occasionally clever responses, (check); and wonder if I am fooling anyone.