The Wallmaster

In the middle of watching something completely lame last night, Scott got out of the Lazy Boy and ventured outside with his camera. When he eventually returned, his eyes were sparkling.

"Look at this shot," he said. "It's the supermoon. Isn't it beautiful?"

I barely took my eyes from the flatscreen.

I'm not feeling myself these days.

Another time, I would have been out there, in the backyard, cheering him on. Marvelling at God's creation. But somehow this year's moon doesn't seem to be as super as some have been in the past.

I'm feeling very flat these days and it's not a good sign. It's the first indication that the old black Wallmaster is lurking on the ceiling ready to pounce on my head.

Depression is a bitch.

I've earned this depression, got the bragging rights and all. Two dead dogs in two months, well, it's just ripped my heart and my bank account apart.  A new puppy is great, but there's no such thing as a replacement dog. You have to let your heart heal before you can let another one in.

And Gordie, the old pug is getting very sick looking. He doesn't bark much anymore. Can't really stand the puppy pouncing on him. Everytime I look at him I wonder how much time we have together. Our eyes meet and I sense a sadness about the old boy.

He misses Hannah. He misses Ming.

Or maybe I'm just projecting my own sadness into his black eyes.

I'm trying not to let the Walmaster win. I have to steel my mind and close my heart until it gets bored and goes after someone else.

Anyone who suffers from depression knows that you have to stay vigilant or else.

Otherwise, the Wallmaster eat you up inside. It will rip apart your hopes and dreams. It will leave you on couch. Uninterested. Unmotivated. Unwashed.

I will shake off these feelings, but it will take time and healing.

The Wallmaster will eventually crawl back up to the ceiling and stay there until the next time.

Maybe by next year's supermoon, I'll begin to appreciate my life again.