There's a tree across the way, a tree that lived here before us. It's a boundary, it and it's friends, that shows the cut off from these new houses and fields that lay behind. This tree and it's neighbour are getting buffeted my the wind, they move and bend seemingly disproportionately to what the weather is actually like. Every time they sway I feel a little sick, I have a bad intestinal area today and it feels like the trees are a metaphor for the churning going on down there and the nausea in my stomach.
Laying here wondering when the next cramps are going to come or the next series of shivers, even though I am roasting to the touch, isn't pleasant. But let me tell you this - I don't mind being sick, conventionally sick. It's easy. Like those trees I can just bend with the forces of nature, take the beatings in my stride and people empathise.
Depression and anxiety are different. Every day I fight a series of battles alone, unseen and without the grace of these bending and swaying trees; which will come out unscathed in the end.
Why is it that I can openly tell you that I have diarrhoea and not feel embarrassed (this is poo we're talking about here - yuck!) when for 2 days and nights this week I was truly sick, hearing screaming in my head (auditory hallucinations) and I felt I had to keep that to myself. Why? I really needed help. On those days I'm that tree that crashes down but doesn't make a sound ~ there's no one to even hear it.