Living with depression is akin to living with a volatile, temperamental child. Easily disturbed, disappointed, distressed.

I began feeling comfortable in my ‘new’ surroundings at the Toad.  After three years of severe depression, I finally felt safe in my self-contained routine while numbly longing for improved surroundings. Fresh walls. Old brown revived to life. Perhaps I was confusing walls with self.

Yesterday they began the floor. Not my preferred order. Backwards in fact. Ceiling first, walls second and floor last. Just saying. Clear everything out. Bring back only good.  Life would be fresh. Begin again. Right way up. But out of my hands. So I impose a numbness that keeps disappointment at bay.

The new floor is being put in today. I don’t know if the ceiling will be considered or just left to peel, a glaring reminder of failure.

I hide now as my safe place has been completely disrupted, feeling quite like that disturbed, distressed child.

The depression has not really improved as I had thought. It had just been masked with routine. As with asbestos, it has become agitated and volitile with the disruption.

This old house. Two humans growing older. Slowing down. Heartbeat of purpose waning. A heavy shroud of numbing protection descends to conceal the anguish behind the mask. A nod to survival.  I fiddle with art and remember this old painting.