Poppy’s green pigs

Poppy and I had the most impossible adventure day of all time recently. My phone gave out. Our bus tickets ran out. All plans went astray. I tried many things to fix our situation and merely wound up feeling incredibly stressed at not being helped by people who could easily have done so. Cried all the way home.

Rose sat with us while we tried to put my head and our day back together. Poppy found a texta and drew me on my left arm. Mummy being sad. On my right arm she drew Mummy being happy. Then she covered the drawing in hundreds of green dashes. According to Poppy, this is why Mummy was so happy. Because she was covered in small pigs. Ha! She’s glorious.

I am so struggling with depression at the moment. It’s invisible one moment and drowns my whole world the next. I feel so alone in it, thrashing in so pain I can’t seem to ease. It’s frightening to show it, to feel like I’m a bad actor trying to play myself and it’s leaking around the edges, ready to overwhelm and terrify people. I feel so angry and disconnected and frustrated. And yet there are green pigs. And tonight, watching Brene Brown on Netflix and laugh-crying at her experiences, feeling her pronouncements – if you are brave you WILL fail – soothe a deep pain in me. It’s raining, the light is strange and stormy. We’re sleeping with the window open, the cold night breeze full of wet garden smells. It’s a beautiful world here. Listening to Rose argue with Poppy about getting into her pajamas. Ruminating on research I’m doing about universal basic income schemes for an essay. It’s good to be able to stretch my brain when my heart is feeling so bruised. At least something makes sense to me.

For a little while the pain eases. I can breathe again, can see in colours other than blood red. Breathe them in, my lovely ones. Try to give them what I have, not only pain but poems, laughter, clean washing, so much love.

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