Moving boxes....

This weekend we move our little family into a house that will become our home.  While filled with excitement the thought of moving everything is daunting, all those moving boxes that we pack all our belongings into.  However, it will be a fresh start from the last 12 months, which has seen me hospitalised a number of times, for months at a time, undertake ECT over two months, suffer retrograde amnesia spanning a year to three years, change of medications to find the right balance, undertaking counselling, and group therapy, and trying to move from being helpless to some level of functioning.  It has been the time in my life, a long life with depression, that the Black Dog has been most present, and disobedient. 

I started my road to recovery in the last six months, maybe, it’s hard to say when I left being a patient to start recovery.  But my road to recovery started on a thin overgrown bush trail that was on top of a rocky outcrop, where parts of it hovered over deep cliffs and gorges, it was hard to balance on top of these without feeling the sense that I am falling like the pebbles I was treading on.  I have slowly moved onto a hiking track, a lot wider, less overgrown, but still on top of the rocky ledge.  It is easier to balance here, without feeling that I will topple over the edge all the time, it just feels like that some of the time, but I feel like I have greater control over my balance, and staying on the trail.  I think at this point in my life, today, I am on a rural country dirt road with a few pot holes, parts that are a bit rough and overgrown, but mostly it travels through green pastures with the occasional view.  My road is getting easier to travel, as my recovery gets better, and that Black Dog starts to understand obedience.  I am really trying to be optimistic about my recovery, and being able to keep the Black Dog at bay, not letting the depression take me again.

To move from here, is to leave behind the vicious memories, or should I say nightmares, that have hindered our lives here, the lounge room where I tried to end my life, the bedroom where I have had major panic attacks, all of these times, ending up in the back of an Ambulance.  While I can’t remember these events, or the hurt I placed in my soul mates eyes, I see the pain that I have caused him, and the memories that will take time to heal.  Making a new home away from here will go a long way to healing our open sores of when depression took me away from life, took me away from health, and wellness, and put us on a journey that was beyond hard.

As we start to pack our belongings into boxes, I am reflecting on how much easier it would be for someone living so long with depression, hurt, and bad memories to be able to just put these nightmares, hurt, and punishment into a box, tape them up, and pack them away forever.  Wouldn’t life as a depressive be so much easier if we could pack up our past into moving boxes, and forever that is where they stay, so we are no longer punished by the past, and we can move on with our future?

I would like to think that life would be that easy, having moving boxes packed with the past we don’t want to remember, so we can have the future we dream of, but in reality we all know that this is unlikely, and whether we pack these into moving boxes or not, somehow they always escape the tape that holds our moving boxes together.  There is always an escape route back into our minds, and into our lives blocking our future.  I pray for hardy moving boxes that keep my nightmares, and contributing factors to my depression locked away, so our fresh start in our new home can be with our happy memories, and a future fresh with new opportunities, and happiness.  Happiness is my ultimate dream.

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