I wrote a little bit about my 2nd deep sea plunge into major depression a while ago when I was still navigating the waters. I’m so happy to at least have my head above sea level at this point; not sure I will ever feel completely dry but at least I can breathe now that I’m no longer pinned beneath the waves. Medication, treatment, stress reduction, reconnecting with a support system of loving friends/family, and maintaining this safe little space here with you have really made a big difference.
But there’s more to it than that and it all starts with this guy:
Hubby or Hub-a-dub-dub or Hub-a-saurus Rex; pretty sure I’m the only one who can get away with these variations so please resist the urge. Anyway, this guy said to me one day in February last year that an eye-sore-triangular-shaped-neighborhood-kitty-litterbox-patch-of-dirt in our backyard would make the perfect spot for a pond. I laughed, maybe even snorted a bit before telling him he was crazy. I called him crazy. That’s funny to me now because in the rearview I can see that I was the one going crazy. Giving up on food entirely, staying in bed all day, bursting into tears when interrogated at the grocery store, “paper or plastic?” Are you kidding me? Do I look like I’m in any condition to answer that kind of question right now? Hubby didn’t let my lack of enthusiasm muddy his vision. Maybe because he needed a distraction, or maybe he knew I needed the distraction. Either way he went ahead without me:
For awhile it looked like a meteor smashed into what was once our unintentional public potty for the feline persuasion. And not too long after the fictional meteor touched down this appeared:
A pond liner.
Still unconvinced I just shook my head and thought, “it’s hopeless, nothing’s gonna grow in that yucky sandy soil.” The project stalled. A couple months later my symptoms advanced into acute territory. I was fatigued by my own desperate thoughts of escape and began groping for the nearest exit. Fortunately hubby looked me in the eyes and told me with great concern what he was going to do if I couldn’t do it for myself. I won’t rehash that entire plate of tamales here but if you missed it and want to follow along help yourself to Rogue Waves then continue on to Caution: Instability Ahead.
“What’s all this have to do with gardening?” you say.
Everything dear reader. Stick with me, I’ll circle back around and pick you up. Look for part 2 tomorrow.