My Black Dog

I’m struggling. Things have not been going our way for couple of months now and the black dog of depression has snuck up on me. I knew I was struggling but it wasn’t until this morning that I noticed him, sat there on the floor next to where I was standing, wagging his black doggy tail.

I knew he was there because someone asked me if I was okay and no-one has asked me if I’m okay in that way for a while and I couldn’t give the answer I wanted. I wanted to cry. That’s when I saw him.

My closest friends know I’m not okay at the moment but it took someone who is lovely, and a friend but not on the inside of the mess that is our life at the moment to ask me “are you okay” for me to realise it. I’m not okay.

I’m used to things not going my way all the time. Hardship is not a stranger to me and it’s not like I haven’t gone through shitty stuff before. This time though it feels worse because it’s not fair. And not, shit happens type unfair, more like properly child in the playground wronged “that’s not fair”. This type of not fair hits me harder because I know we didn’t deserve it. We did everything right. Everything that we were meant, no, told to do, by people who are paid to know.

Anyway, here I am today. Knowing I’m not okay. What am I going to do about it? Not sure. Keep on keeping on like I always do but I can’t ignore it. I’ve ignored it before and that leads down a dangerous road that’s no good to anyone, me, my family or my friends.

Some shitty stuff has been said about me this week but you know what, I think those people must be in a pretty shitty place themselves to say it so I’m not going to take it on board. I’m going to keep doing me. I’m going to talk nicely to myself because I deserve that.

I’m not going to pet my black dog, give him treats or let him sleep on my bed. But, I will acknowledge his presence and I suppose if he wants to come with me he’ll just have to try and keep up cos I’m not stopping this week.

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