My weekend buzz took a hit yesterday. Got to my mid-morning massage appointment only to find out I’d missed it. On my way home got a call cancelling my dinner plans for the evening. Ended up on the couch most of the day thinking about what a great weekend I’d just had and how dumpy things felt now. I could throw in a French phrase about life to appear erudite, but they warn about that sort of pretension when you write.

I’m going to try it again today, not the French phrase, but to get the buzz back. I think maybe taking a walk will help, but it’s kind of cloudy and there’s a 100% chance of rain. I’m beginning to feel as though the universe is just playing with me. The weekend was all music and joy and now it’s turned out the lights and gifted me with a 48-hour day. Dang. It plays rough. And that is how you put a semi-poetic gloss on depression. Although maybe it’s just me feeling sorry for myself. Hard to know sometimes what the difference is. It’s tricky.

I do know it helps me to write about it. You take it out of its dark place, hold it up to the light, look at it, think about it. Then you try to figure out why you feel that way and what you might do about it. One thing I did yesterday was go to the store and shop for dinner. Ended up buying some apples and cheese. That was good. I also talked to a friend on the phone about things, and that helped too. It’s the different perspective. The hardest part for most people is to reach out but I highly recommend it. Ask for help. Three words. They seem simple. But for some folks they’re as tall as Everest and heavy as lead.

John W. Wilson is the author of the Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale